Foundations
by A Touch of Insanity
Summary: It had started simply enough. Easily enough. In the way that these things happen, two people, in love with what they couldn't have, commiserated with each other. And from that grew something else...
1. Chapter 1: Foundations

**Author's Note:**

**So, I'm only going to do one author's note for this whole story, since I have the entire thing written and it just seems sort of pointless, but whatever. So. Stuff. This is a fanfic for Glee. In which Kurt and Puck develop a romantic relationship. I will assume that no one who watches Glee is a homophobe because, well, that would make no sense. Anyways, as the author, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your enjoyment of this story would be furthered by a running knowledge of Avenue Q, Spring Awakening, Time Warner Cable commercials, Zoolander, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, and, well, _Glee_. Oh, and the only bit of back-nine knowledge that has been incorporated is that Kurt will have a boyfriend who is on the football team. So no Jonathan Groff. Sorry. **

**Disclaimer: YES. You have found me. It is I, Ryan Murphy, the Creator. I am writing fanfiction about a show that I created because my fellow producers don't agree with my ideas as far as Kurt and Puck are concerned. Or not. Yeah, I know what you're saying to yourself. "Wow. Sarcasm. How original." Joss Whedon would be proud.**

**

* * *

**

_"And every time we fight I know it's not right,_  
_ every time that you're upset and I smile._  
_ I know I should forget, but I can't."_

"Foundations" by Kate Nash

* * *

Kurt Hummel played a few tinkling notes on the piano in the rehearsal room. School wasn't supposed to start for another twenty minutes or so, leaving him plenty of time to mope by himself. His fingers slid over a few minor chords, but he wasn't quite in the mood to sing anything. Finn...stupid Finn. Finally realized that the cheerleader was all wrong for him, and who did he go to for comfort? Not him, that was for sure. That tacky bitch, Rachel. Kurt sighed. It wasn't her fault, anyway. It wasn't like she was fashion-retarded on purpose to make him like her. Finn just happened to not be aware that more advanced individuals with better taste existed. So what if one of them happened to be a guy?

The door opened. Puck and his obnoxious mohawk entered, holding a guitar. He set it in a corner for that afternoon's rehearsal and looked at him.

"Hey, gay kid, don't you have a life?" Kurt flinched.

"Hey, straight kid, don't you have a girlfriend? Oh, right, she's pregnant and hates you." His comment seemed to be rude enough to produce the desired reaction.

"Fuck you. You don't know know me at all." He stormed out, leaving Kurt alone again. As always. As it should be, since Finn was too blind to see him.

During rehearsal, Schu seemed to be more interested in chilling than anything else. Ms. Pilsbury was there, too, and Kurt smirked a little when he saw them exchange a fairly romantic look. Took them long enough, he thought.

"Okay, so today, let's try out something a little modern," Schu said, passing out music. Kurt almost groaned when he saw the title of the song - Mr. Brightside. How fitting. "I thought we'd try something new today. Mercedes, Puck, Artie, and Kurt are on lead." This time Kurt did groan. He had to be singing something he really, really liked to not mind being "the girl" in the arrangement. Not really the case there. Although, if it pissed off Rachel, he could be persuaded to enjoy it a little more easily.

Back-up started on the intro, their voices soft and bitter, as the song called for. Despite being annoyed at being pushed to do back up, Rachel always put on a stellar performance. Kurt would never tell her, but he liked that about her. Before he knew it, Puck started the first verse. It still surprised Kurt that the kid could sing, breathe, _and_ play an instrument at the same time. It seemed like too much for his peabrain to handle.

"_I'm coming out of my cage, and I've been doing just fine, gotta gotta be down because I want it all. It started out with a kiss. How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss._"

"_Now I'm falling asleep, and she's calling a cab while he's having a smoke, and she's taking a drag. Now they're going to bed and my stomach is sick and it's all in my head,_" Kurt sang. Their voices melded together, finishing the verse with, "_But she's touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now, let me go_."

"_And I just can't look - it's killing me and taking control_," Mercedes sang, adding some much-needed spice to the other wise so-so song. All four of them shared the chorus. "_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, turning through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside_." Kurt sang on auto-pilot for the rest of the song. His uncharacteristically bad mood was deepened by the fairly depressing song. He needed to go home and put on some Wicked. Or maybe he needed the upbeat rant of "It Sucks to Be Me" to mellow him out. That would do it if nothing else did.

Leaving rehearsal, he had a little bit of a spring in his step. Avenue Q often did that to him. He headed to his baby, humming along and trying not to think of all the homework he'd have to do. Slamming his door closed, he plugged his iPod into the car's stereo. He turned to make sure he had plenty of room to back up and spotted Mohawk kicking the side of his convertible, probably swearing. Kurt let out a tired sigh before getting out.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked after he walked over, standing with his hands on his hips. "And I swear to god, if you give me any crap, I'll leave you here to your car without looking back."

"Whatever. It's not like you'll be able to help me, anyway." He rolled his eyes when he saw that Kurt wasn't leaving. "It won't start."

"Get behind the wheel," Kurt ordered, opening the hood. Puck sat with a sour expression, hand on his keys. He examined the radiator, transmission, and all the other assorted bits that made up the brain of the car. It appeared to be well taken care of. He fiddled with some of the wires after checking the amount of transmission fluid and water. "There. Try it now." Puck rolled his eyes again and turned the key, surprised when it started.

"What the fuck? How'd you do that?"

"My dad's a mechanic. When I was younger, he taught me how to fix up cars to 'bond' or whatever. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I can't keep an engine running." He spun on his heels and marched back to his car with an air of triumph. "My good deed for the day," he muttered to himself.

"You're still a fag!" Puck shouted as he opened the door. Kurt didn't even look back.

About a week later, Kurt was confronted by something very strange. That strangeness happened to be the particularly round form of Quinn Fabray. She really was getting quite large, he noted with distaste. In the rehearsal room after everyone had left, she sat next to him on the piano bench. He half-heartedly wondered if it would collapse under the extra weight of the unborn child.

"You must hate me, don't you?" she asked, pressing down a few keys. He considered it. True, she had lied to Finn (_his_ Finn) about the mohawked fetus growing inside of her, and, well, _dated_ him, but he didn't like her at all anymore. She wasn't competition anymore.

"A little. But not nearly as much as I used to."

"Can I ask you something, then? I figure you'll be somewhat honest with me." She sighed, looking down, and ran a hand over her belly. "Do you think I should have this baby with Puck? I really don't know what to do anymore. Finn told his mom that the baby wasn't his, so now I'm living with Santana. It's not like I don't see that they flirt and text and sleep together. I know that he does things with other girls, too. But he wants to be the father. He really does. I can see that. Maybe he doesn't love me, but he loves our baby girl. I'm basically out of options, anyway. I don't have anywhere to live, really, and I must be kidding myself if I think he can support us." She shook her head and stood. "Forget it. I'm just thinking out loud."

"I think you shouldn't depend on him. I think you can do it on your own. That you're strong enough for that, if you tried. If you were strong enough to face down Sue Sylvester for a yearbook page, then you could probably raise triplets." He stared her in the eyes for a moment (and damn, what mascara did she use? her eyelashes were huge!) then said something he knew he'd probably regret. "Are you really living with Santana? I mean, she and I are cool, but to be blunt, she's a bitch. Not that I don't like that about her sometimes, but she's not someone you want to be pregnant around. What if your baby absorbed her bitchiness or something? It could be contagious. You could stay with me for a while, if you wanted. I've got the entire basement for my room and a walk-in closet. You'll need somewhere to store all those maternity clothes. They must be huge."

"Really? You mean it?" She grinned, and he thought that with her monster belly, she was cute, in that pregnant-girl sort of way. At least she had some basic mastery of fashion.

"Yeah. It's not like my dad could possible think I'm more of a freak. A pregnant girl wouldn't be too much weirder than anything else."

"Right. You think we could do that today, then? Santana's having some 'alone time' with her 'man' until, like, ten tonight. I'd prefer not having to face them while moving out."

"Sure." He stood and extended his elbow. "Shall we, then?" She laughed, took his arm, and they left.

At Santana's house, Kurt packed up her bags while Quinn wrote Santana a note. He stole a few hangers, actually, but figured she wouldn't notice. Of course, he ended up carrying all of the bags down the stairs and putting them in her car by himself, but he wasn't about to blame a pregnant girl for not being able to carry stuff. He even managed to clear enough space in his closet to hang up all of her clothes and leave some room for more when she got to be _really_ huge. In fact, he was lucky enough to have a second bed that folded down from the wall (Mercedes used this when she slept over), and found her some sheets.

"Go ahead and make yourself at home. Just don't touch any of my skin or hair care products. I _will_ kill you, pregnant or not." Kurt sat on his bed and turned on his iHome, starting his homework. The sounds of a door and footsteps overhead signaled that his dad had come home. Dinner would certainly be interesting.

Half an hour passed before he heard the anticipated yell of "KURT! DINNER!". Quinn looked a little guilty, a little awkward. As she probably should.

"Come on," he sighed, and she followed him up the stairs and into the dining room. They sat. Kurt's dad could be heard in the kitchen. He came in with a bowl of pasta and stopped for a second.

"You didn't tell me we had company. I would've made more pasta." Quinn eyed the huge bowl and raised an eyebrow. He could tell that she was doing the math, trying to divide the bowl between the two people and coming up with the conclusion that they were both total fat-asses.

"Yeah, about that...This is Quinn. She's going to be staying with us for a while."

"Oh _really_? Kitchen. _Now_." He put the bowl on the table. Kurt got up and went into the other room. "Help yourself, by the way," Mr. Hummel told the girl over his shoulder. Kurt stared at the tiles beneath his shoes.

"Look, dad," he whispered, "She's got nowhere to go. Her parents kicked her out because she's pregnant, and there was a bunch of drama about the father, and now she's here. It'll be fine. My room's more than big enough."

"She's pregnant?" He stuck his head out into the doorway to look at her, then popped back in. "Jeez. This isn't some _thing_, is it? I mean, you're not the father, right? You don't need to get a girl pregnant to prove that you're manly or whatever."

Kurt gaped. "Oh dear god no. _Ew_. Ew ew _ew_! That's definitely not an issue. Now excuse me while I vomit." He went back into the dining room where Quinn was daintily eating her pasta. He told her, "Well, that's squared away."

She smiled. "Should I be insulted that the idea of being my baby daddy makes you want to vomit?"

"Just eat your spaghetti, preggo."

Despite how crazy the entire idea was, living with Quinn was easier than he imagined. Sure, she peed _all the time_ and took almost as long as he did in the shower, but she wasn't too high maintenance. And he _knew_ high maintenance. Despite all that, he did occasionally feel awkward with her. There was the fact that he was in love with her ex-boyfriend, and (maybe it was the hormones) she cried a lot. Usually it was at night, when he was supposed to be sleeping (and was actually imagining Finn...in quite a few interesting ways). He could hear a few soft sobs each night, like clockwork, when she thought he'd gone to sleep. It always made him feel guilty, so he started sleeping with headphones, but, really, what was he going to say to her? 'Sorry you lied to your amazing boyfriend about being pregnant when it was really his best friend's baby'? That didn't seem right. So he ignored it and hope she'd stop.

As usual, Finn was paying absolutely no attention to him. He was too busy fawning over Rachel-fucking-Berry. Why couldn't she just get a nose job and bother someone else? He needed to be more aggressive. To go on the offensive. He needed to seduce Finn. And to do that, he needed to talk to Quinn.

The conversation started easy enough. He sat on the edge of her bed as she combed her hair after her shower. "So, how's the sea monkey in your uterus?" She smiled.

"She's fine. She kicks sometimes, but it's not too bad." It was a girl, apparently.

"Have you thought of a name for her yet?"

"Not quite. Finn and I talked about some names, but he wanted to name her 'Drizzle'. Awful, huh?" That would have been...unfortunate.

"Yeah. Children shouldn't be named after ice cream toppings." Good thing they wouldn't be having children. "Did your baby daddy say anything?"

"No. And I don't care. I don't want him to be a part of her life. I've decided that he won't be involved."

"That's good. So. How is Finn these days?"

"I wouldn't know. I heard from Rachel that they're good friends. I sort of hate her a little bit, but he'd always sort of liked her."

"Ugh. Why _is_ that?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, but I see where this is going...Kurt, you need to let him go, okay? I know Finn. I've known him for years. He's straight. He's never going to go gay for you, or anyone else. If you try, you're just going to get hurt, I promise you." Kurt hopped off the bed.

"You're wrong." He jammed his earphones in his ears. If only he could drown her out...but he couldn't find a playlist quickly enough.

"Kurt, come on!" He turned up the volume and went to bed.

Kurt couldn't help but stare at him. God, Finn was just gorgeous...His blue eyes, his cute little smile...He really could stare at him for hours. And had. He would love to just be able to stare at him and imagine all the things he wanted to do with him all day. Or to be able to actually _do_ those things with him. He was so strong, so _powerful_. He had to be amazing in bed-

"Hey, gaywad. Stop stalking Finn." His head snapped around. _Puck_.

"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about, Mohawk."

"Of course I do. You're so obvious about ogling him. It makes me want to throw up. Just do everyone a favor and stop fagging over him."

"God, just shut the fuck up!"

"Oh, you're swearing now? Aren't you cool." Kurt shook his head. _I am above this, I am above this, I am above-_ "What, are you practicing saying 'fuck' so you don't sound like a total virgin geek for him? Yeah, too bad you'll never be able to so much as touch him." Kurt snapped. Without thinking, he drew his arm back and punched Puck squarely in the nose. Yeah, not such a good idea. After a second of initial shock, Puck punched him in the eye. Kurt, not wanting to look like a girl in front of his beloved Finn, leapt at him, punching and kicking blindly, barely feeling the blows that landed on him.

"KURT! PUCK! What the hell is going on! Stop fighting!" Schu tried to pull them apart, but a stray elbow clipped him in the jaw. It was only the combined effort of Finn and Schu that managed to separate them. "Everyone OUT!" Schu yelled, clearing the room of everyone but the two teens. They were both bruised and bleeding, though Kurt was much more damaged than his adversary.

"You hit like a girl," Puck muttered. Kurt gave him a glare intended to melt his eyeballs.

"What has gotten _into_ the two of you? Really, guys, _fighting_? How are we gonna win sectionals if we're at each other's throats?" He looked between them, but neither boy said anything. "Look, I'm not going to tell the principal about this because I need you two to compete, but if anything like this happens again, I'm going to have to. God...I'm really disappointed in the two of you. I honestly thought I could depend on both of you to be stable. I mean, I _tried, _to keep you separated from each other in the choreography because I know how you feel about each other, but really. This is just...I'm going to have you talk to Emma. I can't deal with you right now." Schu walked into the hall calmly, but disappointment radiated from his body.

"You're such an asshole. This is all your fault." Kurt gently touched his face, praying that the bruises wouldn't show. They always were a bitch to cover up.

"_My_ fault? Who punched who, fagface?"

"Oh my god, will you _stop_ with the gay comments? Really, it's, like, all you see! You know, it's been proven that 90% of all homophobes are actually just closet cases. Repressed homosexuality much?"

"Fuck you. You don't know me." The door opened.

"I better not have heard any swear words just now," Emma said. Kurt liked her, if only because she had the best wardrobe of anyone he knew, besides himself. "So, boys. I saw you two got into a little tussle. Obviously, this is something we need to talk about. So! Why did this whole thing start?"

"Mohawk hates me because I'm gay. That's why it started."

"Well, Noah, what do you have to say about that?"

"I don't hate that the gay kid's gay, I just hate that he's gay _around me_."

"Obviously, he's so insecure, he finds any reference to homosexuality as an affront to his masculinity," Kurt supplied, checking his nails.

Emma looked between them, her large eyes wide. "Okay...so, let's start things first by using each other's names. Kurt, I want you to call him Noah. Noah, I want you to call him Kurt. Why don't you try saying hello to each other with those names. Shake hands." Kurt glared, but extended his soft, manicured hand.

"Hello, Noah. I'm going to pretend your mohawk doesn't make me want to gouge out my eyes."

"Hello, Kurt, I'm going to pretend I'm not still laughing about the fact that not only did you wear a skirt to school once, but you actually managed to _frolic_ on the football field."

"Right. Well, that was...productive. You two obviously need to work out some issues. So, this is interesting-"

"Look, Ms. Pilsbury, uh, _Noah_ and I would be happy to work things out by ourselves. We've seen the error of our ways - _fighting doesn't solve anything_ - and we'd love to fix things on our own. I personally promise that I won't commit any sort of violence against him and I resolve to work everything out verbally in the future. There. Problem solved."

"Kurt, I'm not sure that's-"

"No, it's cool, Ms. Pilsbury. Me and him are cool now. We were just joking around. Really." He punched Kurt on the arm in a way that was meant to look friendly, but he could feel the bruise forming. "I think the name-thing really helped. You're really good at your job."

She didn't seem entirely convinced. "Okay...I'll talk to you two later. Your rehearsal is over now anyway. But I do expect both of you to get along from now on. Mmkay? I don't want to hear any more about this."

"Of course."

"Yeah, sure."

It was not so. They had barely even made it out of the school and into the parking lot before Puck had shoved him. "You're lucky I didn't break your face or have to resort to tears to get out of there." Kurt picked himself off of the ground, brushing of his messenger bag and slacks.

"Why don't you go work out or sleep with Santana or something?"

"Oh, shut up." He looked down. "I can't stand her. The only reason I'm doing anything with her is to see her and Brittany get it on. Can you say threesome?" Kurt threw up a little.

"Look at you! Have you never heard the words 'double standard'? What, it's _just fine_ for people to be gay as long as they're girls?" Puck stared at him blankly.

"Uh, yeah. Girl-on-girl is hot," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're hopeless." Kurt pushed past him and walked quickly to his SUV. The sooner he was rid of the muscle-y asshole, the better. It took a minute for him to plug in his iPod ("What Is This Feeling?" this time; he felt it was fitting) and let the soothing sounds of Wicked put him at ease. High-blood pressure made people age prematurely and get fat, and neither were things he was planning on. He pulled out and was about to leave the parking lot when he noticed in his rear-view mirror that Puck had the hood of his car up.

"No. No no no no no! Some people don't deserve kindness," he told himself, feeling the nice person buried deep inside of him trying to surface. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be making nice. He cursed his moral compass and backed into a spot. As he walked over to help, he made sure to look as annoyed as he could; let Puck see that he was inconveniencing himself to take the high road. It would only prove he was the better man.

"You come back to get beat up again? What, does it turn you on or something? Freak."

"Actually, I was going to help you with your car, since you seem entirely unable to make it work. And I value Ms. Pilsbury's good opinion of me." And he was maybe trying to be nice because the last time he really encountered her was when he puked on her shoes.

"Fine. You have two minutes to fix this thing before I punch you in the face." Puck sat on the curb and rested his head in his hands as Kurt got to work. Once he found the source of the problem, he winced. It was bad. Really bad.

"You need to take this to a mechanic. You need parts. See this thing here? It's busted. You're basically screwed."

The mohawked teen sighed. "Well, fuck. I can't pay for any of this." Kurt shut the hood. Was he going to? No...there were reasonable limits to what a person had to do for an enemy within the bounds of mercy. But his better nature was telling him otherwise.

Reluctantly, he hit the speed dial on his phone. "Hey. Dad?" Puck looked up at him. "Can you come by to the school with the truck? My, uh, friend needs some repairs."

"Yeah. I'll be there in ten," his dad said. An engine could be heard in the background.

"Thanks." Kurt ended the call and gagged. He was never _ever_ going to refer to Puck as a friend again; it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Okay, first off, you owe me. Like, a parade. With elephants and a marching band. And you will now address me as your savior. Thanks to _moi_, You'll have your car fixed by tonight. _And_, I can work out something with my dad so he'll let you pay him in installments or labor or something. You may begin your worship." Puck sort of glared at him.

"I didn't ask for a favor."

"No? Well, let me just call him back..." He took out his phone threateningly.

"Wait. I..." He stared at the asphalt before muttering, "Thanks."

"We'll have to work on the gratitude, considering that you're now my bitch." He inspected his nails and gloated internally. He really was a saint sometimes.

"Fuck that. I'm no one's bitch."

"One call and I could destroy your means of transportation. I'd say you're my bitch for sure. And first off, I want an apology."

"For what?"

"Let's start chronologically. Seventh grade: convincing our gym class that I watched them undress in the locker room. Eighth grade: my first through seventeenth swirlies. Which you, for some reason, chose to do despite the fact that you were going to the high school by then. But I know there would have been much worse if you were in my grade. Ninth grade: nailing my lawn furniture to my roof and swirlies eighteen through sixty-one. Tenth grade: approximately forty-seven slushie facials, two patriotic wedgies, twenty-two dumpster dives, throwing pee balloons at me, and that time you put a camera in my football locker so the _entire team_ thought I was taking pictures of them in the shower and decided to lock me in the janitor's closet with all of their sweaty jockstraps. Add to all of that all of the times you've pushed me in the hallways, knocked my books onto the floor, locked me in my locker, or committed some sort of violence on me. Oh, and for saying that I have a crush on Finn today and hitting me. You may begin."

"What? No. First of all, it's stupid that you remember all of that, and second of all, I'm not sorry for any of it." Kurt took out his phone. "Alright, fine. Look, I'm sorry for all that shit I did to you, though I think it's ridiculous that you actually remember that stuff as far back as middle school." Kurt wanted to punch him. Hard.

"You'll never understand. People like you don't." He sighed and tried to explain. "To you, I'm just another person you push around. To me, you're the one person who consistently attempts to harass, torment, and injure me. How could I not remember every single time you've bullied me?" For a second, he was frozen by the fact that he actually said something like that, something honest and personal, to _Puck_. The ability to vanish would not have been unwelcome.

"Sorry, I guess. I didn't think anything of it."

"You wouldn't," he snapped, shook his head and went back to his car to get his iPod. He needed music stat. Bad moods were terrible for one's complexion. Blasting Katy Perry, he sat on the curb several feet away from the poorly-dressed jock. He skipped through the songs, but couldn't find a good one for his current mood. "I Kissed a Girl" just made him feel awkward, and the Cobra Starship version of the same songnjust made it worse. He rolled his eyes and settled on Avenue Q's "My Girlfriend (Who Lives in Canada)", imagining Puck as a puppet singing it. That thought actually made him laugh.

"What're you laughing at?" The other boy stared at his hands, his expression unreadable.

"The idea of you being a closeted puppet singing about his imaginary girlfriend so his best friend won't know he's in love with him." His statement was met with a grimace.

"Remind me never to ask you that again."

He rolled his eyes. "You need to learn some Broadway. Honestly, it should be a requirement for being in the Glee Club."

"I don't care about your homo musical shit."

Kurt shook his head and looked up to the sky. "I tried. I really tried."

A couple minutes later, Burt Hummel pulled up in his tow truck. Shortly after that, the car was hooked up to the truck and Puck was in Kurt's passenger seat. The shop was pretty close, actually, so it was a fairly short ride. Nonetheless, it was still pretty uncomfortable. He never _ever_ wanted that particular jock in his car, probably ruining the upholstery.

"So. Your dad's...not what I expected."

"What? Did you think he was girly or something? Just because I have good fashion sense and like men doesn't mean that my parent has anything to do with it."

"_Parent_? Where's your mom?" Kurt really didn't want to be getting into that conversation. It was alright with Finn, who was nice and understood and was basically a god among men, but with the asshole he'd literally had nightmares about...not so much.

"Why? You think you'll add another notch to your creepy, cougar-covered bedpost?" Deflection was always best, and he preferred to be on the offensive when he was, as he was then, in a position of power.

"Uh, no. I just was wondering." His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Well, she's dead." A heavy silence filled the space between them that lasted for what seemed like ages. Later, sitting on the little couch in the shop while Mr. Hummel fixed the car, Kurt remembered to text Quinn that he and his dad would be getting home late (he gave her his spare key a couple days after it was established that she wasn't evil, just grotesquely with child). She texted him back saying that she wouldn't be home until later anyway.

"Why're you texting Quinn?" Puck asked, finally breaking the calm silence.

"Just telling her we'd be back late. She's at Gwen's house." He saw some confusion. "Gwen's her sister."

A second of thought then the hollow question, "Wait, is she staying with you?"

"Yeah. For a while. She's gotten sort of tired of Santana for the moment." That only made the other teen more depressed-looking. "What? You couldn't think she'd stay with _you_. She doesn't want your help. She's fine on her own."

"But she's not. Or she wouldn't be with you. I can't believe she wouldn't tell me she was living with you."

"Maybe she just wanted to be around a guy who was on _her_ side in the whole baby drama, not his own. But you had your chance in all this. It's time for you to let it go."

"I'm the _father_. I'm on my _kid's_ side. I can't just not be in her life. That's not an option." Part of Kurt agreed with that, but he had to stay on Quinn's side. It was sort of his duty as roomie or something like that.

"It's not up to you, don't you see that? Quinn's choice is what matters. If you loved her, you would understand that."

"I want to help her _because_ I love her. My daughter is what matters."

"Well, you're pretty bad at showing it. How is Quinn supposed to know you love her if you spend your time with basically every girl but her?" Puck shook his head.

"I don't love Quinn. I love our child. I have to be a good father. A better father."

Kurt sighed. "Than who? Finn? It's not like he's about to compete with you for that position." He was given no answer.

Half an hour later, Puck drove himself home (after payment was worked out), and Kurt sat alone in his car. He was feeling decidedly weird. If someone had asked, he would have said that Puck loved Quinn, though in a weird sort of twisted way that involved sleeping with everyone else because he was an idiot. Well, maybe not, since he never really thought of Puck in any context other that _Oh shit, Puck's right there and he's smiling. This is going to be wet and corn-syrupy and bad for my complexion._ But if he had thought about it, he would have assumed. Well, that, or that he was just stupid and hormonal and had to sleep with half the world. Actually, that idea made him want to vomit. Ugh...Puck and women. Breeders could be so nasty sometimes.

All the same, he sorta wanted to talk to Quinn. Luckily, she was home by the time he made it to his room. She was working on some sort of homework on her bed, wearing a pair of maternity sweat pants and a sports bra. Kurt wasn't too offended by her partial nudity, though he couldn't really help but stare at her stomach; the idea of there being a little person in there was a little strange. He sat on the end of her bed.

"Hey. I'm almost finished up here," she said. "Why were you late getting home? It's almost seven thirty."

"Oh, Mohawk's car died. I wouldn't be me if I didn't at least try to help." Since Quinn left practice early, he omitted the little bit about their fight. That would really just confuse her. "Just our of curiosity, why did you sleep with him? Like, at all? _Ew_." She sighed and put down her pencil.

"He was pissed off at Finn, so he thought that it was a good idea to get me to sleep with him. I...I don't know. He had wine coolers and I was depressed. I didn't mean to do more than just make out with him, but he has this voice that he uses sometimes, and I forgot to say no. With Finn, it was always a chore to make out, but I felt sorta lonely, and it isn't like Puck's not attractive. I mean, I didn't mean to lose it to him. It just sort of happened. It wasn't all that bad, either. Finn always left me wondering if I'd ever, you know, _enjoy_ it. He, uh, has a problem with finishing early. But I figured, if everyone slept with Puck and liked it, it wouldn't be so bad. It was definitely a mistake, though." Kurt stared at her and bit back his initial impulse to gag and tell her "TMI". He could tell that she felt a little weird about telling anyone all of that, though she sort of blurted it out. And, well, some of the information was pretty educational. Like, for instance, Finn having a problem with being a little...premature. Not what he would have thought, but he wouldn't judge. He loved him anyway.

"So, he was you first?"

"Yeah. Sadly. And it's not like there's been anyone after him. I never let Finn do more than touch my boobs." She ran a hand over her exposed belly. "What about you? You ever sleep with anyone?" He laughed, loudly and bitterly, at the idea.

"Good one. The most physical contact I've ever had with anyone was while being manhandled and thrown in a dumpster. I've never actually kissed anyone either. It's not like I have much of a selection at school. They're all such closet cases. Did you know that thirty percent of men are bisexual? You wouldn't think so if you went to our school."

"You know what? I'm gonna find you a boyfriend. I need a distraction from all this baby business. That's what I'm going to do."

"Good luck with that. The only guy I like is not only taken, but might be straight. I think I was meant to die alone and a virgin." She rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you talk to Puck? I've heard he's pretty good at solving that problem," she said sarcastically.

"Good idea. Speed up the process. Then I won't have to live long enough to be miserable. Or not. I think I'd rather live to see my eighteenth birthday. Or seventeenth, even."

"Well, I'll find you someone." She did the last problem on her math homework. "Oh, I ate dinner at Gwen's. It'll just be you and your dad tonight. I have a paper to write for English. Don't forget to eat. I've told you time and time again, you're too skinny."

"You're just jealous of my girlish figure and incredible metabolism. Now excuse me, pregnant Barbie, while I go eat some pizza." She smiled at him as he ran up the stairs, finding his dad with a steaming box of pizza.

"Hey. I was just going to call you and Quinn up for dinner."

"She already ate. More for us." His dad got some plates out and they sat at the dining room table with a few slices each.

"So, look, I gotta ask this: Was that boy, Noah or Puck or whatever, your boyfriend?" Kurt choked on his pepperoni. He almost corrected his father and told him of Puck's true nature, but he didn't want him to worry.

"No. Definitely not. He's just a member of the Glee Club."

"So you don't like him or anything?"

"Uh, no. Not at all."

"Okay, just wanted to make sure. You just never introduce me to any of your male friends, so I thought..."

"Nope. Never. Ever. The day you see me with Noah "Mohawk" Puckerman is the day you see me die an early death." He could imagine all of the creative, humiliating ways such a death would ensue quite clearly.

"That's a little overdramatic."

Kurt coughed. "Not really. May I be excused?" He stood up, a slice of pizza in his mouth.

"Well, fine, I just want to know what's going on in your life."

"That's great. I just need to go somewhere to vomit." He paused. "Not in a bulimic way. Just in a 'ew, mohawk' way. And I have to do homework."

His dad sighed. "Alright." Kurt went downstairs with a slice.

"That was fast," Quinn observed.

He shrugged. "My dad tried to insinuate that I had a personal life. With one of my least favorite people. There're some situations you just have to walk away from before you do something drastic. Like hang yourself." She laughed, and he took a shower and went to bed.


	2. Chapter 2: The MirrorBlue Night

**And this is where some knowledge of Spring Awakening and Time Warner Cable commercials would come in handy...**

_

* * *

"But there's nowhere to hide from the ghost in my mind_  
_ It's cold in these bones – of a man and a child_  
_ And there's no one who knows, and there's nowhere to go_  
_ There's no one to see who can see to my soul"_

"The Mirror-Blue Night"_  
_

* * *

"Okay, guys, I've got a couple things I want to try out. So, we'll take a vote," Mr. Schu said, holding his fists out in front of him. "Raise your hand if you pick my right hand...Now raise your hand if you pick my left... Alright. Left it is." He opened his hand, revealing a slip of paper. "As an experiment, I thought we'd all try singing a few themed songs. Well, by themed, I mean that they're all from the same musical." Only Rachel and Kurt seemed happy about that.

"Yes! Could we do _Wicked_? Or _Phantom_?" Rachel asked, showing off her ridiculously perfect teeth.

"Actually, Rachel, I've already picked one out. I think you'll all find that it's relatable. You will all be performing selections from _Spring Awakening_." The Jewish starlet squealed. She looked like she was having a heart attack or a stroke or something.

"I've always felt that I was meant to be Wendla. Oh, Mr. Schu, this is amazing!"

"What's _Spring Awakening_?" Finn asked, looking at Rachel suspiciously. The rest of the club seemed a little hesitant, too. A happy Rachel Berry was not usually a good thing.

Kurt answered, "Only the best musical ever made in the history of musical theater." He gave Schu a curious, suspicious look. "Although I'm not sure how we'll be able to sing it, since half the songs are too inappropriate for school."

"Well, that _is_ the dilemma, but I think I've figured things out so that we can not only experiment with different voices, but also perform some of the more tame numbers that still show the quality of the musical and your singing. Here's the plan: Rachel and Finn will be on 'The Guilty Ones'-" Kurt groaned "-Mercedes, Tina, Santana, and Britney will be on 'Mama Who Bore Me' (the reprise), Quinn will sing 'Whispering', Artie, Matt, and Mike will sing 'All That's Known', and-" he looked at the remaining two pointedly "Kurt and Puck will sing the 'Word of Your Body' reprise. There will be no changes. I've got your sheet music right here. Any questions?" Kurt choked and sputtered.

"What do you mean _no changes_?! I request a song change! This is blatant gay prejudice. Not to mention, you are deliberately putting me in imminent peril."

"Yeah, Mr. Schu, that might not be such a good idea," Rachel added. Kurt was actually grateful for her support, but knew that she knew of the possible repercussions of the song.

Puck coughed. "If even _Hummel's_ calling it gay, then I'm gonna have to say no. As in _hell no_. Or I can think of some more creative ways to say no-"

"I think it'll provide an excellent opportunity to resolve some issues. Your protest has only proven that. I'm not even asking you to do any of the dialogue. Besides, I think your voices will work well within the two roles, which is why I will insist that Kurt sing as Ernst. Though it really wouldn't work too well the other way around, considering your ranges."

"Mr. Schu! Please! I beg of you, let us do 'Don't Do Sadness' and 'Blue Wind' or 'The Mirror-Blue Night'. Something, _anything_ else."

Schu looked pissed off. "You know what? I _will_ let you sing another song. 'Word of Your Body'. _The first one_. Either you do a duet between two young men, or a duet between a young man and woman. Or both. You could merge the two." He mused over that for a second. "Actually, considering the length of the songs, I want you two to do both. I'll write it up for you. See? If you hadn't protested, I wouldn't have even thought of that."

"Wow. Thanks, geek. Maybe we could talk about how _grateful _I am later, you know, in private." His look was probably the most frightening thing Kurt had ever witnessed, even though part of him wanted to add _that's what she said_ to the end of his phrase.

"Why? So you can kill me? I don't think so. First off, you're so stupid you wouldn't know what to do with the body after you killed me, and second, I'm not stupid enough to be alone with you."

"Ooh. That's dirty," someone whispered in back. Puck snapped in their direction and glared.

"I'd rather microwave my face than do anything vaguely sexual with Princess Pantyhose, okay?" Kurt let out an exasperated noise.

"That doesn't even make sense! Not only is it impossible for someone to microwave their face, but I am _not_ a girl, nor have I ever worn pantyhose in my life!" …_to school_ he finished in his head, but no one had to know about that... He turned to Schu. "See! _This_ is why I can't work with him! He's a stupid, bigoted, homophobic, _mohawked_ idiot! I mean, you wouldn't ask Rachel to work with Hitler, would you?"

"I can't believe you just compared me to Hitler. That is so wrong. My great grand dad died at Auschwitz."

"...And this only goes to prove my point. I want you two to work together, to get past your differences, and to discover each others' talents and unique abilities."

"You know what? I'll take the high road; I'll do it," Puck said, glaring at Kurt. He knew that the jock only said that to make him look bad.

"Fine. Give him the music. _I_ don't need it; I know this musical the way Christian Dior knows couture. And I don't want to have to sing with him until he knows it half as well."

"Right. I'll give you a reworked copy of the combined songs anyway, for reference. And I'm give you all time to practice right now." Kurt sat down on the risers and took out his iPod. He made a playlist of both songs and set them on repeat. He knew Ernst's range was perfect for him (he'd been singing _Spring Awakening_ in the shower since the soundtrack came out) and that Puck could probably handle Hanschen. It wasn't as if he didn't know their scene inside out, but in a way, that was the problem itself. He _loved_ their scene in the vineyard. He used to pretend that he was Ernst and Finn was Hanschen and seducing him, even though he sorta loved him already, and therefore needed no seducing, but whatever. It was always sort of perfect. But Puck wasn't supposed to be a part of it. He could be the asshole at the boarding school that the actor who played Hanschen played at the end. That was all he'd give him. Not the character he was a tiny bit in love with.

He closed his eyes and let the voices of Jonathan B. Wright (not to mention the image of his god-given cheekbones) and Gideon Glick wash over him. He could almost make out the noises of the other members of the Glee Club going through their songs, but he tried to push them away. Strength of character and willpower would be needed to both work with Puck and help him hit some of the higher notes. Then he would need some intense personal time and afterwards, when everything had been finished and sung, some good, old-fashioned retail therapy.

Later, he felt a shoe in his rib. "Hey. _You_. I've got this song down." Kurt sat up and took out his earbuds.

"Sing me the chorus," he sighed.

"_Oh, you're gonna be wounded_-" Kurt cut him off, shaking his head.

"No, no, no. You're doing it all wrong. You're not supposed to belt and screech it. This isn't a _punk rock_ song, despite that it's a rock musical." He took on a wistful, lofty tone. "This song is tender, _hesitant_, even. Sure, Hanschen is seducing Ernst, but there's more to it than that. His very actions, _his words_, are a rebellion. He's been pretending, filling a role, all of his life, and in this scene, he finally can be himself and take what he wants. He's confidant because no one's ever caught him in his lie, but a part of him is afraid that even though he's gotten so far, he won't be able to take what he wants, what's right in front of him. He's wanted, as they have all wanted, the touch of another, but it's something he's never felt, and so he fears it. _You_ have to feel it, the way he feels it, when you sing. I want to be able to hear the repression in your voice."

Puck didn't make any expression or acknowledgement of what he said. He glanced down at the sheet music, then stood and started pacing, occasionally looking at it. After about ten minutes of this, Kurt was about to hurl some sort of projectile at his head. Fortunately, Schu noticed that it was almost five o'clock and brought everyone together to conclude the rehearsal.

"So, I'd like to thank all of you for not coming to blows this rehearsal," he said, and most of the Glee Club laughed. "Seriously, I think this could go really well. I'm think we might take a song from _Spring Awakening_ to regionals."

"Too bad we couldn't do 'Totally Fucked'," Kurt whispered to Rachel, who was standing near him.

Schu gave him a look. "I heard that, Kurt, and yes, I agree, it's a catchy song that would show off the group's vocal talents, but realistically, we could never do it. I was thinking either 'Touch Me' or 'The Song of Purple Summer'. Or maybe 'I Believe'. But we'll talk about that later. Right now, let's focus on learning these songs and putting our own unique touches on them. So, I'll see you all next week. _And_ I expect you to rehearse together outside of school." He gave a pointed look to both Kurt and Puck. "Teamwork is what keeps this club afloat. If we're not a united front, how can we hope to compete against Vocal Adrenaline? So, with that in mind, I bid you all farewell. Drive safely."

Kurt had almost made it to his baby when Puck stopped him. "Hey, so you have a recording of the song, right? Do you think maybe I could listen to it to sorta get a feel?" Kurt considered it for a moment, then agreed. Tiredly, he got into his car, opening the passenger side door, and plugged in his iPod. Puck hesitantly sat in the passenger seat. Kurt thought for a second, then went onto the internet and found the scene on youtube.

"Here. Watch this. This is the original cast. The other casts have slightly different interpretations, but this is the basis you need you know it. Ernst is the tall one with black hair and Hanschen is the blond with angelic cheekbones." He handed over his iPod and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and letting his lips form the words he memorized long ago. A few minutes later, he heard the scene end and Puck handed back his iPod.

"Okay. So, that was...pretty homo. Like, whoa. _The gay_. It was _everywhere_."

"No shit, Sherlock. That's what happens when men seduce other men. Homosexuality. Get used to it." He shrugged. "There's more to the musical than that, though. That was just the comedic relief scene from the second act, which was ridiculously depressing. There are other songs, and they're all at least mostly straight. Here." He picked out a song, "Totally Fucked", and did his best not to sing along. He noticed Puck had his foot tapping, so he played "The Bitch of Living", which he also liked, though not as vocally as most, as was to be expected.

"It's alright," he conceded, shrugging nonchalantly.

"_Alright_? I'm burning you the soundtrack. Listen to it and fall in love with it. Really, there's no other option for _Spring Awakening_. Now get out of my car."

"Fine, bitch. Try not to get your gay all over the place." He slid out and slammed the door behind him. Kurt rolled down the window.

"Closet case!" he yelled, rolling his eyes. His iPod continued on a shuffle of the album and played "Mama Who Bore Me", so he quickly forgot that there even was anyone named Noah Puckerman. It was a very peaceful state of mind, this Puck-less place.

* * *

Saturday afternoon, Kurt was in his bedroom, dancing to the faded glory of Soulja Boy (he was quite good at the dance, if he said so himself) when his dad opened the door and yelled down to him.

"You've got a friend, Kurt. At the door." The teen squelched the urge to sing the song his dad accidentally named. Sometimes he became infected with music like that. Sighing, he turned down his speakers.

"Tell her to come down here," he said, expecting it to be Mercedes or Tina. He switched songs, shaking his butt to the Pussycat Dolls. He heard heavy steps on his stairs and turned. Puck hopped down them, guitar in hand. He looked around.

"Nice room." His eyes lingered on the rumpled sheets of Quinn's bed.

"You are so lucky that a) my dad's here, so I can't kill you loudly, and b) that Quinn's gone so I don't have to kill you in front of her, regardless of whether my dad hears. Though violence could totally seep through the placenta. What if the baby turned into a psychopath because of you? That would be horrible. You're such a bad influence." He realized then that his stereo was still playing the music of a bunch of anorexic sluts and was a little embarrassed. He paused it, saying, "So, I assume you're here to rehearse. Although, really, next time you show up at my house, text or email me beforehand. That way I can booby trap the porch. Or let my dad know I'm having someone over."

"Yeah, I would, but I don't have your phone number or email address. You're lucky I found a phone book." Kurt rolled his eyes and went over, expectantly holding out his hand. The other boy looked confused.

"Phone, idiot. It's not like I'm asking you to dance." Puck placed his phone on the outstretched palm hesitantly. He added himself as a contact quickly, then texted himself to add his "partner" later. "There. Problem solved. Although if you use that phone number for evil, say, online porn scams or telemarketers or something like that, I will hunt you down and kill you."

"As if you could handle my badassery. Now get your gayness into singing mode. We're going to finish this in an hour, then we'll be done and it'll be over until rehearsal, and after that, I won't have to ever listen to this song again. Oh, and for the record, there's no way in hell I'm doing that little middle part. I know Schu wrote it out, but I'm just gonna say, _no fucking way_. So, yeah." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"What, you think I would actually want to kiss you? Don't kid yourself, Mohawk. I do have taste. I know it's hard for you to believe, but some of us actually don't want anything to do with you." Puck rolled his eyes and took out his guitar. Kurt pulled up his sheets and sat on his bed. A little mischievous part of him decided to act out. He took on an innocent, romantic expression and sighed. "You know, sometimes, when it's quiet like this, I like to imagine myself a country pastor..."

"Oh, shut up. If you start in on that, I'm gonna punch you in the face and walk right out of here. Don't think I won't." Kurt, of course, believed him. Puck sat on the edge of his bed with his guitar and started playing the first few notes. They began.

Four hours later, Kurt was about to take a staple gun to his forehead. He was tired, pissed off, and he need a Ricola. It was a wonder he'd managed not to strangle the stupid jock or beat him over the head with his own guitar. Sure, the kid had potential, but he lacked focus and the dogged determination that defined he and Rachel's star power. It didn't help that Kurt was relentless perfectionist, but he wasn't to blame for having standards.

"You know what? This is exhausting. I need something to drink," he groaned, clenching and unclenching his fists to resist the urge to kill.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." Puck massaged his temples. What could he possibly have a headache from? He wasn't having to listen to himself sing the same part over and over again, making the same mistakes each time. Kurt shuddered and trudged up his stairs, Puck following just behind him. He yanked open the fridge, grabbing a can of Arizona, and hopped onto the counter. Puck took one as well, eyeing it suspiciously. As he gulped down the bigger half of his tea, his dad came in.

"How're you two doing?"

"Fine," Kurt ground out.

"You better not be having sex." His glare was enough to convince his father to grab a beer and head to the living room before there was any violence. "I'm gonna see what's on the cable. You know, I'm so glad we switched from satellite." Kurt ignored him. He watched from the corner of his eye as Mohawk put his unopened tea back in the fridge and took out a beer.

"Don't even think about it. Not if you value your life. I can guarantee you that my father _will_ kill you." Not entirely true, but no one had to know that... Puck made a face and put it back, taking his tea again.

"Hey, what do you guys want for dinner? Quinn's gonna spend the night at Gwen's so it's just us guys for dinner," Burt Hummel called from the other room. "Well, that's assuming you're staying, Noah. If you can't stay, that's fine too. Whatever. Don't want to impose."

He donned a mischievous smirk. "Actually, dinner would be awesome, Mr. Hummel."

"We'll have Chinese, Dad," Kurt yelled, consciously not bothering to ask Puck what he wanted.

"That okay with you, Noah?"

"Yeah, that's great."

"You eat sesame chicken? Mu shu pork? Crab rangoons?"

"Yeah. Sounds awesome." Puck smiled wide (if not a little evilly).

Kurt glared. "How long have you been manipulating my father?"

"Since I started helping him in the shop. So, about a week. He's actually pretty cool. And he likes me, so you'll have a hard time convincing him to kill me."

"Great. You two can play football and watch Ax Men together," he said sarcastically.

"No way! He watches Ax Men? That's my favorite show!" Kurt could not imagine hating a person more at that moment. "Relax, I was joking. I don't have cable, just a psycho collection of movies. Including the extended version of Schidler's List and every other movie made about the Holocaust. Well, almost. Not the gay one, but all the others. It's a family thing. I think my mom holds some kind of record for Jewness."

"Really?" Kurt asked, surprised. The surprise was more that there actually was a gay Holocaust movie, but he wouldn't press the issue, considering who he was talking to.

"Yeah. My dad and her dad were both rabbis. She wants to continue the tradition or something like that. I dunno. I haven't met a Jewish girl I could actually stand to be in the same room as. Well, and I haven't met a Jewish girl other than Rachel or my sister. So, yeah."

"I really don't see how you could stand Rachel long enough to date her."

"She is pretty fucking annoying. But, hey, she had a nice ass and she'd make out with me. Wouldn't let me touch her boobs, but whatever. I was getting there."

"No comment."

"You know, it's kinda funny that I've dated and slept with the two girls the guy you're in love with has dated this year."

He rolled his eyes, hoping it didn't show that he was almost in physical pain at the comment. "Wow. Thanks for _that_ reminder that Finn is mostly straight."

"A little more than mostly." He thought for a second, then wore the ghost of a smirk. "Well, no, there was that one time...but no, he hated that. Some experiments _should not_ be repeated. I would know." Kurt gaped.

"Wait, you and Finn...?"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. Neither of us is gay. We were thirteen, and it was the first time we ever drank together. He kissed me, we both threw up. End of story. Kids do that everyday. That doesn't mean either of us is ever going to again." Kurt finished off his tea with a glum expression. He was never going to get laid. Or kiss anyone. The fates had decided, and now they were rubbing it in his face. He hadn't even had a male friend since elementary school. It was hopeless... Then he got a weird sort of idea.

"Hey, you're a homophobe, so you see gayness everywhere. Have you noticed anyone, besides me, who is legitimately homosexual?"

"Why? You want me to give him your number?" he teased sarcastically.

"Or just let me know who he is."

"Wait, seriously? You're trying to get me to find you a boyfriend? God, you must be desperate."

He sighed. "Basically. The further away Finn becomes, the closer I get to insanity. I can't even find a guy to make him jealous. Do you know how hard it is to find a date at our school? Of course not. You're not looking for boys and you're _Noah Puckerman_. So don't judge me for this."

"Oh dear god, you're actually a virgin, aren't you?" He laughed. "Oh, this is too good!"

He shushed him. "Keep your voice down. If my dad hears you and me talking about something like this, he'll freak out. He has a hard enough time dealing with me as it is; if you add the concept of actual sex to the equation, there will be blood. So don't get started."

"I don't know. I almost feel like it's my duty, with me being so experienced and all, to get you laid. And, hell, if anyone can do it, I can. You'd need my level of expertise."

"Um, no. Even if you were to help with..._that_, you'd probably end up killing both of us in our sleep. So, really, I want you as far away from my personal life as humanly possible. No offense." He almost slapped himself. _No offense_? What was he saying? Just because he had managed a couple minutes of conversation without physical violence was no reason to say even remotely _neutral_ (let alone nice) things like that. "Although, you know, you'd get no where in your usual ensemble. Jeans and a t-shirt just don't cut it these days. Or ever." Puck made a face at him.

"Oh, you know how you burned me that cd and all? I listened to it a little, and I was wondering, could I play a song for you and maybe you give me your obnoxious gay criticism?" Kurt was a little taken aback. He was being asked for help? Sure, he was basically an expert, but he hadn't expected Puck to understand that.

"Yeah, I guess. Come on." They marched back downstairs and he sat on his bed, legs crossed, waiting. Puck slung his guitar over his shoulder and slid his fingers over the strings almost nervously.

"Look, I'm probably about to butcher your favorite musical. Just to give you fair warning. But, you know, _whatever_. I like this song. So you can shut the fuck up." Kurt rolled his eyes, and the jock began playing. Soft plucked notes floated from his guitar, and after a moment, a voice he'd come to be familiar with rose from him, steady and sure. He recognized the song immediately as "The Mirror-Blue Night", from the intro and the words, but the way Puck sang it, it just felt different. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but he'd made the song his own. He was in the last repetition of the chorus when Kurt's dad called down that dinner was ready. Kurt scowled at the timing, but Puck finished the song and looked at him expectantly.

"I...yeah. That was pretty good. I mean, as usual, your voice needs a little bit of fine tuning, the sort of thing only years of practice can provide, but, _considering_, it wasn't bad. You could work on the break between the softer and louder areas because you seem to have some hesitation switching between your head voice and chest voice. Other than that," He shrugged. "Meh."

"Wow. I must have been pretty amazing if you gave me a 'meh'. Sweet... Can we go eat now? I could literally eat a baby." Kurt got up and started to the dining room. Puck slipped the guitar strap from his neck and leaned the instrument against the wall. His footsteps followed behind that of the soprano.

"Sorry, Mohawk, babydaddies aren't allowed to say that. It's just creepy. All the more reason to keep you away from Quinn."

"Oh, shut up. It's not like I meant to get her pregnant. These things just happen."

"Yeah. To straight people who're too stupid to use a condom."

"For your information," he hissed. "I _did_. It broke. Not my fault." Kurt's mind was immediately filled with horrible, horrible images.

"Oh dear god, _do not_ say things like that right before I eat. I have a weak stomach." He shuddered. _Broken condoms_. Ew. That set a new record for disgusting. And the idea of broken condoms _inside_ people...he gagged. Trying his best not to literally throw up on the table, he sat in his usual seat in the dining room and began spooning some rice and assorted Chinese food onto his plate. Puck sat in what he now thought of as Quinn's spot, but he tried not to freak out about that.

Dinner conversation was remarkably boring. Puck and his dad talked at length about stupid boring manly stuff. Cars, football, outdoor stuff. Ugh. Basically everything that required sweat and dirt. To be honest, Kurt couldn't help but feel a little jealous that Puck was able to relate to his dad the way he never was. It'd been hard growing up with someone who couldn't tell Gucci from the Marc Jacobs collection at JC Penny's, and here this _person_, this _invader_, his adversary, nonetheless, was chatting away about all the things he never liked as if he were the perfect son.

"...and that's why I tried to get into falconry," his dad was saying.

"Yeah. I wish I had that sort of connection with nature in my summer job. The closest I get to anything natural is the chlorine-resistant algae that grows in people's pool filters." Which made sense, since the women he slept with on the job were probably all surgically enhanced and plasticy.

"Not to mention the cougars," Kurt muttered at his chow mein. A foot connected with his calf muscle in a ridiculously painful fashion.

"What was that, Kurt?" his dad asked.

"Nothing!" Puck replied, reaching a hand beneath the table dig his fingertips into Kurt's knee. "Although, you know, Mr. Hummel, if you wanted, I could probably find you a girlfriend. I know a lot of women your age from my job. Some of them aren't married." Kurt clawed the hand with his delicately manicured nails.

Burt laughed. "Thanks, but no thanks, Puck. I'm happy without a woman in my life."

"Okay...just let me know if you change your mind."

"Dad, we're going to go rehearse. See ya later." He effectively dragged Puck from the table and down to his room, where he tried--and failed--to shove him against the wall. Fists clenched, he hissed, "_Never again_. You _are not_ going to ever say anything like that to my father _ever_. I swear to god, I will kill you slowly. You _do not _bring up women in this house, not like that." Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and started pacing the room. Really, the boy was such an idiot it hardly made sense that he was so angry. But then he thought of his father, and forgot that such an idea as temperance even existed.

"Jeez. I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a little fun. Chill out. I thought your mom died a long time ago." Puck removed himself from the wall. His hands tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt.

"It was ten years ago. _Only_ ten years ago. If you think, even for a moment, that he doesn't still feel it like it was yesterday...you're hopeless. My mom was the best thing that ever happened to _anyone_." He sat on his bed and fell backwards, staring up at the ceiling. There were so many painful things he wanted to do to the jock at that moment. Not just for being totally out of line, but for making him talk about his dad's issues with his mom. He felt a weight on the bed next to him, and then Puck was lying next to him.

"I'm sorry. My dad walked out for the last time when I was four. Right after he got my mom pregnant with my sister. I guess I can't really get the idea of fathers loving their wives." They studied the popcorn patterns above them. "I stopped getting birthday cards when I was twelve, though that one was three months too late. My mom still thinks he's coming back. I think that's why me and Finn were such good friends; neither one of us knows what it's like to have a real father. I don't want to do that to my kid, you know? I want her to have a better life and all that. I have to give her what I never had." Kurt didn't really know what to say. He understood, in a sort of backwards way, and part of him wanted to convince Quinn to let Puck actually be the baby's dad. He couldn't imagine life without his dad. Sure, they were totally different, but they had love. That was the important thing. So, in lieu of actual words, Kurt simply lay there with his enemy, finding shapes on the ceiling.

Almost half an hour later, Kurt's dad stuck his head down. "Hey, Noah, are you staying the night?"

Before Puck could so much as formulate a response, Kurt answered, "Nope. He'll be going home soon." He knew he effectively ruined the moment, but in a way, that was his intent. The longer he laid on his bed in silence with Puck, the more human he seemed. And he definitely _wasn't_ human. Once he sympathized with his abuser, he would only be hurt worse. That was the way of things. It was Stockholm Syndrome or something like that.

Puck sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "So, can we never talk about that again?" The hard planes of his shoulder blades shifted beneath his t-shirt as he inhaled.

"I'm perfectly happy with mindless hatred," he responded numbly, tracing tiny patterns on his bed covers with his fingertips.

"Great." He stood and put his guitar away. "I'll see you Monday. We can decide whether or not we need to rehearse more then." He left, and Kurt realized that he hadn't actually looked at him since he told him about his mother. He sat up. His room suddenly felt quite small now that he was alone. It was a feeling he was pretty unfamiliar with after the past weeks. When he was sure that Puck was entirely gone, he climbed the stairs and found his dad on the couch.

"Whatcha watching?" he asked, sitting down next to him.

"One of those rip-off 'true crime' shows." The screen showed a police chase with the words "dramatic interpretation" at the bottom of the screen.

"Cool. Just a question: would you have actually allowed Puck to stay the night? I know you let Mercedes and Tina and Britney and Santana stay over, but I didn't think you'd let me have a boy over."

"I considered disallowing it, but you seem to sort of hate him a little bit, so I figured you wouldn't actually want him to stay over. Reverse psychology, I guess. And teens are rebellious and whatnot, so I thought that if I told you that you couldn't, you'd want to. Although if I ever think you actually _like_ some guy you have over, it's going to have to be a no. It would be the same if he were a girl and you liked him. Her. Whatever."

"You noticed I hate him?"

"Well, _yeah_. You seem like you wanted to punch him in the face for most of dinner. And at the shop." The older Hummel shrugged. "Any particular reason?"

"He's sort of my arch-nemesis. Schu gave us this duet because he knows we want to kill each other. He thinks it'll help or something." Kurt was careful to leave out any mention of gay-hating; he didn't want his dad to be arrested for murder. Then he'd have to live with Aunt Claire, and he'd always had a feeling that she was a psychopath. "Really, he's just jealous of my talent. He wishes he could reach a high A. I suspect Schu wanted me to coach him or something." He almost cringed at the thought that he sounded like Rachel Berry, but it was better to be safe than sorry.


	3. Chapter 3: Whispering

**So, the question of livejournal has been asked...the answer: I do not have an lj that I use. Livejournal is too complicated for me (what can I say, I'm a little bit of a fail).**

_

* * *

"Listening_  
_ To the souls in the fool's night_  
_ Fumbling mutely with their rude hands_  
_ And there's heartache without end"_

"Whispering"_  
_

* * *

Tuesday was Glee practice. All of the groups and Quinn were set to perform in the order Schu told them of their parts. First was, of course, Rachel and Finn. As usual, Finn looked and sounded gorgeous. The song wasn't necessarily the best pick for his voice (he thought that Puck's deeper, somehow smoother voice fit the role better, but whatever), but Rachel, as always, did amazing. Perfect, even. Then Quinn went. He knew that Schu had chosen the song for her because of the whole pregnancy thing, which was a good idea, he thought, since she seemed to really get into it and did quite well. The girls went, then, and he almost stood up and started singing with them. Mercedes' somewhat soulful interpretation fit the song perfectly, and the other girls really got into it, the way it should be sung. Artie totally beasted '"All That's Known", as was to be expected. Kurt honestly wasn't paying too much attention though because, for the first time in a long while, he was nervous.

He sat on the floor a little in front of the risers, as they had rehearsed, next to Puck, who had his guitar on his lap. The soft piano part began, and the mohawked boy played the cello notes on his guitar. Taking a deep breath, the soprano began.

"_Just too unreal, all this. Watching the words fall from my lips_."

Puck's mellow voice drifted in easily. "_Baiting some boy with hypotheses..." _He laid the guitar down at his side.

Kurt joined him in, "_Haven't you heard the word of your body?_"

"_Don't feel a thing, you wish._" Slowly, he extended his arm, as they had rehearsed, and they joined hands, not looking at one another.

"_Grasping at pearls with my fingertips." _He could feel a very thin layer of sweat form between their palms, but it was impossible to tell whose it was.

_ "Holding his hand like some little tease." _

They stood, facing each other, then, together_, "Haven't you heard the word of my wanting?_ _Oh, I'm gonna be wounded. Oh, I'm gonna be your wound. Oh, I'm gonna bruise you. Oh, you're gonna be my bruise." _Kurt stood, facing his audience, as Puck took over his crooning solo, circling him, as Kurt followed him with his eyes.

"_Come, cream away the bliss. Travel the world within my lips, fondle the pearl of your distant dreams_." Puck came up behind him and he almost shivered at the hot breath on the back of his neck. "_Haven't you heard the word of your body_? _Oh, you're gonna be wounded. Oh, you're gonna be my wound. Oh, you're gonna bruise, too. Oh, I'm gonna be your bruise."_

"_Oh, I'm gonna be wounded. Oh, I'm gonna be your wound. Oh, I'm gonna bruise you. Oh, you're gonna be my bruise," _Kurt sang, ignoring the strangeness of Puck looming over him. He really was taking to the whole seduction thing quite well. Of course, it was to be expected, considering his reputation.

They sang together again, "_Oh, you're gonna be wounded. Oh, I'm gonna be your wound. Oh, you're gonna bruise, too. Oh, I'm gonna be your bruise." _Kurt swore he heard Rachel chime in for the last note and cursed her in his head for stealing their thunder, but he may have imagined it. After the last traces of sound died out, the room was dead silent. It almost seemed like no one breathed. The boys glanced at each other awkwardly, wondering if they should move or sit down or stay where they were.

At last, Schu filled the silence, saying, "Wow. Now that's what I'm talking about. Teamwork. That was excellent, guys." Kurt smiled proudly and sat down daintily. "I'm really impressed." He kept talking about the performance, but Kurt zoned out.

From the back of the room, he heard Rachel whisper, "_Looks like someone skimmed off the cream_." His head snapped around.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he hissed, trying not to cause any sort of distraction.

"Nothing. I'm just glad to see you've moved on from my boyfriend." Kurt didn't like what she was implying. He simply didn't see Puck that way. At all.

"For your information, I _have not_ stopped liking Finn. It's only a matter of time before he realizes that girls are a total pain and he'd be better off with me." Even as he said it, he felt like he was leading himself on. Every day proved that Finn hardly even thought of him as a friend, let alone liked him. But he would persevere until either Finn loved him, or he found someone else. Someone _gay_ and hot and perfect. Basically like Finn, only smarter. Just a little smarter. You know, so he could at least _cheat_ well.

"So, guys, that was a great rehearsal. I'll see you next week," Schu concluded, grinning wide at them. Kurt felt a little guilty for missing the whole speech, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. "Puck? Kurt? Can I talk to you two for a minute?" Kurt groaned. _That_ was all he needed.

"Yeah, Schu?" Puck asked, looking as pissed off as Kurt felt. Was it not enough to put on an awkward (albeit brilliant) performance?

"I just wanted a moment with you two in private. I know it was really hard for you both to work together. I appreciate that you did it. I understand that you two have some fundamental differences, and I wanted to thank you for working them out. And, I have to say, that was one of the best duets I've seen in a long time. Your voices really complement each other. I might consider featuring you two in a song at sectionals. So, just keep up the good work." Schu slapped them on their backs happily and they left.

Kurt made a distinct effort to distance himself from his former singing partner. Quinn was waiting for him by his baby since she'd felt too sick to drive that morning. She leaned against the shiny black door and cradled her stomach. It was always somewhat endearing to see her like that, and a little unnerving. He unlocked the door for her and hopped in the driver's seat. Buckling her seatbelt, she looked at him through her long lashes.

"You did really well today, even with Puck there." He pulled out of his parking spot and started home.

"The jerk can sing, I'll give him that. He needs training, but he has raw talent. I'll give him credit for that."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Well, Noah always was charming."

"In what universe? It's all I can do to tolerate him. I think everyone who's suffered through more than an hour with him deserves some sort of medal."

"And he's hot." He gave her worried look, and she shrugged. "Sorry. The pregnancy hormones are making me horny. God, I can't wait until this baby's out of my stomach."

"Speaking of which, don't you need a crib and all that stuff? I mean, judging by your belly, you can't be far from your due date."

"I don't know. It's...complicated." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell anyone this, but my original plan was to give the baby to Terri Schuester. Obviously, that failed. But I think I might give the baby up for adoption. Or, maybe, I'll see if Gwen'll take her for a while, just until I graduate, so I can get a job and raise her. I don't know. And, for your information, I've got almost two-and-a-half months before I can get my waistline back and get back into shape."

"_Two months_? But you're already, like, an elephant!"

"And I'll be a whale by the time I give birth. Jeez. I hate being fat."

"So do I. Or, I would. If I were fat. But I'm not."

"Thanks for that little confidence boost," she sighed sarcastically. He pulled into the driveway and they got out. Kurt collapsed on his bed almost immediately. He had the duet stuck in his head hardcore. It was not a song that was particularly welcome in his mind. Actually, part of him resented both Puck and Schu for making him do that song; it was a great song that he would thereafter associate with unhappiness and, well, Puck. A good song ruined for no reason. Obviously, a jock was to blame.

* * *

Two weeks later, Glee practice was going as usual. In the entirety of that time, Kurt had done very well at avoiding Puck, or would have, if Puck wasn't a freak who decided that the best way to charm Quinn into letting him be a father was to show up to his classes (half of which he had with Kurt, whom he insisted on copying off of) and to get a steady job (which, coincidentally, was with Kurt's dad). So, basically, he was about as effective at avoiding the homophobe as Billy Mays was at staying alive. And, yes, he knew that it was a distasteful comparison, but all the more reason for why it fit.

Kurt sat on his bed, thinking about Finn. Sort of. More like thinking about punching Finn in the face. After all, the more you loved someone, the more you wanted to kill them. Right? So it was perfectly fine to be angry at Finn. For being straight and being with Rachel and generally just being an idiot. He should have noticed by then that they were perfect for each other. Kurt was sweet and a good singer and wore nice clothes, all without being too bitchy or premenstrual. In short, he was everything Finn wanted. Well, everything he thought he wanted. Except, perhaps, for anatomy, but it was totally realistic to think that Finn could be bisexual.

Quinn sat on her bed, painting her nails. Kurt watched her for a moment. Obviously, Finn used to like her. What did she have in common with Rachel? Wavy-ish hair, maybe? That was pretty much it. Well, there was, of course, the fact that they had _breasts_. But whatever. He couldn't even begin to comprehend their appeal. But he did know someone who could... He flipped out his phone, sending a text message.

_Robin, tell me this: as a self-proclaimed straight man, what is the appeal of 'boobs' on a girl? _ It was of course, his usual manner of texting, which included full words and correct punctuation. He found speaking in letters and abbreviations to be sort of ridiculous unless he had to shorten the message to fit the text into one message. But that was completely normal. Anyway, after a couple minutes, he got a response.

_WTF? Who is this? Y r u in my phone as "Oberon"? Ur texting the wrong person. I'm not Robin. _Kurt sighed and did a facepalm. Obviously, the idiot had never read Shakespeare.

In two messages, he sent, _It's Kurt, you idiot. Go read some literature. Robin Goodfellow is another name for Puck in A Midsummer's Night's Dream. Oberon is the fairy king and Puck/Robin is his idiotic jester/servant. It seemed fitting. Now answer the question, douche. Btw, you totally ruined everything amusing in that by having me explain. _A soft cry from across the room made him look up from his phone. Quinn was looking down between her legs. Kurt gave her a look.

"What?" he asked, sliding his phone into his pocket.

She glanced around, her mouth open in shock. "I think my water just broke." He stopped thinking. Shapes blurred past, and he found himself in his car, keys jammed in the ignition, with Quinn in the seat next to him. He passed his phone to her, trying to concentrate on driving.

"Call your parents or anyone you want there. We'll be at St. August Hospital." Any sound after that faded into the background of angry horns and screeching tires as he focused on driving as quickly as was safe (and not necessarily legal) to the hospital. The red fuzzy outlines of other cars' taillights seemed almost blinding in the dark. Each second felt like hours, long hours during which Quinn was not in a sterile hospital room. It seemed like it took far too long for him to ease to a halt in next to the emergency room. In the back of his mind, he recalled statistics about teen pregnancies and complications. He wanted to throw up.

Kurt didn't even notice what was going on around him until he felt hands on him, pushing him away from a hospital gurney. He pushed through, reaching her side. Quinn's eyes were wide in fear or pain, he couldn't tell. His sweaty hand searched for hers, but was met with the hard outline of his phone, which he jammed into his pocket without a thought so he could hold her hand. A doctor shoved him to the side to hook up an IV. Another doctor pushed between her legs, then shouted something he couldn't understand. Suddenly, the gurney was moving. Someone shoved a mask into his face. He didn't realize what was happening until he saw a gloved, antiseptic hand skim a scalpel over the pale mound of Quinn's stomach.

* * *

Kurt awoke in degrees. First, he was aware of his body. His head felt like it had been folded in two and there was a strange rushing in his limbs. He found that he was awkwardly collapsed in a hard plastic chair. Then he heard noises. Hushed, frantic voices that ebbed and flowed. When at last he opened his heavy lids, he saw something he really could have lived without seeing. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies formed a writing mass around someone. Just clear of their huddle, extended awkwardly, was a thin foot. Dangling off of it was a pink flip flop, one he immediately recognized as Quinn's. He stood slowly and edged closer.

"Is she alright?" he asked quietly. There was no response, so he repeated himself. A nurse snapped his head around.

"Are you the father?" he barked, his hands lost behind a doctor's body. Kurt shook his head.

"Just a friend. She lives with me. Is she okay?" His eyes darted over to try to catch a glimpse of the former cheerleader.

"You're gonna have to leave the room. Only the father or her immediate family are allowed in here. Are they aware that she's here?"

He nodded. "Is Quinn alright? Is the baby alright?"

"It's too soon to tell. You need to go into the hallway. We'll let you know as soon as we can." Kurt nodded again and backed out of the room, feeling helpless. A clock in the hall told him that it was about an hour since the last time he checked his clock, back in his room. He couldn't tell how long it had been since her water broke, but it felt like ages away. He looked at his phone and checked the recent calls. One was made to his father and the other two to numbers that weren't in his contacts. Probably Quinn's parents and Puck's house. Or maybe Gwen and Puck's house. _Where was everyone_?

It was several long, stressful minutes before his father arrived, red-faced and out of breath. "How is she?" he puffed.

"No idea. Last I saw, they were cutting her open. I think I passed out. They won't tell me anything since I'm not the father or family." His dad sat down next to him and they waited.

When the hall clock said it was one o'clock, and Kurt was nearly asleep, his father told him to go home. There had been no word, just the occasional rushed orderly moving in or out of the door, silent and purposeful. No one else had shown up. Kurt coaxed his stiff limbs into a standing position and made the trek back to his car. He felt enormously guilty for leaving and not staying, but resolved to be back at six after catching a couple hours of sleep, if his dad didn't call him by then. He checked his phone and noticed a text message he'd overlooked from earlier.

_I'm not going to explain boobs to you. Homo. PS Ur a geek for making a reference to a dead guy, even though I'd totes vote for you for fairy king. Well, fag king. _A rage he'd never known before surged within him. Quinn was in the hospital, cut open and bleeding on a table and where was _he, _the_ father_? Probably fast asleep and not caring at all about the girl he stupidly got pregnant. He hit the call button, letting his anger do the thinking for him. As soon as he heard the call get picked up, he started screaming.

"You_ FUCKER!_ What are you _doing_? You should be in the hospital right now, waiting for the mother of your child you get out of the O.R. Dear fucking god. I must say, I actually thought more of you than that. I thought you at least had the decency to be there for your child's birth. When Quinn _called_ you. But no. You're the most despicable human being I've ever even heard of. Even _Hitler_ would be there. And, yes, I did just compare you to Hitler for a second time, but this time, you can't deny it. So shut the fuck up and go kill yourself." He hung up, not caring about anything that asshole had to say. His phone flew across the room, and he found himself screaming and crying into the pillow for no reason at all.

* * *

A loud crash startled Kurt into full awareness. Squealing a little bit, he leapt out of his bed. His hands scrabbled for a weapon of some kind. The door to his room slammed open, and he tightened his hands on what he found, though, admittedly, an issue of _Seventeen_ was not a good defense.

"I have a weapon!" he yelled. Heavy footsteps descended, so he rolled the magazine into a somewhat-hard tube.

"No, you don't," a surprisingly familiar voice slurred. "Not counting your overwhelming aura of _gay_." A very much worse-for-wear Puck sneered at him from the bottom of the stairs.

Kurt was shocked. "You're _drunk_!" he accused.

"No shit, Sherlock. Stole a beer from your fridge, actually. And don't give me shit about rules. I really don't give a fuck." The kicker just stood there, dumbfounded. His mind was whirling, more sluggish than usual because he just woke up.

Slowly, he began to understand. "You broke into my house. You _broke into_ my _house_! I can't believe you broke into my house." He stared as Puck messily chugged a familiar brand of beer. "You're such a bastard. For all you know, Quinn could be dead, and yet, you're here, screwing around. You don't deserve her. _Or_ the baby."

"I was just at the hospital, fag. Your dad said she and the baby were still in surgery and that she was giving my kid up for adoption. You know, _if it survives_. Funny, Mr. High-and-Mighty, I didn't see you there. Oh, right, you were busy _sleeping_. You have no right to judge me."

"For your information, I was there for _hours_. I was there when they started cutting into her stomach and when she was freaking out because she had at least two months until the end of her term but the baby was coming anyway. I was there, waiting for her asshole parents to show up. Or you. You know, the baby's _father_."

"How was I supposed to know that she went into labor?"

"She called you." He laughed bitterly. "Or maybe you were too busy knocking up some other girl to notice." He shook his head, dropping his empty can on the floor.

"Quinn never called me. No one called me until you woke me up, at one in the morning, screaming your head off about it and telling me I was worse then Hitler. Again." Kurt sat on the edge of his bed guiltily.

"So this may have been a little bit of a-" He stopped when he saw Puck run around the corner to his bathroom. Loud retching noises hit him from the other room. Kurt strode over, watching the mohawked head tremble over the toilet bowl. Puck heaved again, and the sight made him want to vomit himself. Spitting a few times, he flushed and leaned against the wall. That's when Kurt noticed that his hands and forehead were bleeding. Without a sound, he got out his handy first aid kit and a wet washcloth and knelt next to him.

"Don't worry. I'll have you looking like new in no time. This kit can take on anything," he said, set firmly in doctor-mode. Puck made a little growl, like a frightened animal, when Kurt dabbed at the cut on his forehead. He gently cleaned away the blood on first his head, then hands. "I'm pretty good at this, too. If you don't forget the neosporin, you shouldn't have a problem with infection or anything. And I'll make sure this nasty scrape on your forehead doesn't scar."

"What, are you a doctor or something?"

"No. I just don't want my dad to worry. I've gotten good at that." Puck inhaled sharply when he picked a small chip of _something_ out of a cut on his knuckles with his trusty tweezers. Looked like he'd tried to punch something very _solid_.

"Does someone beat you up?" he asked quietly. Kurt looked up at him, eyes flat.

"Uh, _yeah_. Duh. I thought you sent them."

"_Sent them_? When? Who beats you up?" There was surprise on his face, something he didn't expect. Not in a million years.

"Like, half of the football team. Usually it's not more than a punch or two after practice or after school. But sometimes, those stupid jocks you hang out with get bored and gang up on me before or after school. Thank god they never ruined my nose." He wrapped a last band aid around one of Puck's fingers and unpeeled another, larger one for his head. "I always thought you told them to do it, but you were too much of an asshole to let yourself get caught. Actually, I'm pretty surprised you didn't know." He smoothed the edges of the band aid down neatly on his forehead. His cuts seemed to have stopped bleeding, so it didn't seem like the damage was too bad. The idiot would live another day.

Puck tried to defend himself. "I never actually hurt you. Not more than you could handle. A dumpster dive or shove in the hallway isn't _that_ bad." Kurt stared at him.

"Bruises, cuts, scrapes...they heal in a week or two. But I can remember every time you sneered at me or called me a faggot or said something about hating me in general like it was a couple minutes ago. Actually, _it was_, but that's not the point. The point is, you've detested me for ridiculous, superficial reasons for as long as I have memories of you. You don't just physically injure me or my belongings, you humiliate me every chance you get. So, yes, as far as bullies are concerned, you'll always be at the top of my list." He stood and heaved the speechless jock to his feet. "Now, either wash up, since you look pretty terrible, or get the hell out of my house. Well, once you tell me how this happened."

"I got into a fight with a wall," he answered simply. Frowning, Puck looked down at his dirty, wrinkled, and bloody clothes. "Can I take a shower? I promise I'll be quick, I just feel really unclean right now." Kurt snorted, thinking about all the ways he was unclean. _Morally_.

"Yeah. Go ahead. If you want, I'll throw your clothes in the wash. Those stains are going to set if you don't treat them soon. Just put your clothes outside the door if you want me to wash them. And don't mess with your band aids." Kurt turned and left, hating himself in a lot of ways. He really hadn't meant to say anything about the bullying (though, at first, he liked rubbing it in Puck's face that he wasn't completely messed up by the other boys, but then he found out the truth), and, really, what was he doing? When your enemy breaks into your house in the middle of the night, drunk, you're not supposed to clean up their wounds and let them shower in your bathroom; you're supposed to kick their ass and send them packing! He wasn't particularly good at either of the latter two things, but the same mentality should have been present. But no, Kurt had to go and be nice. He really was an idiot. It wasn't like Puck'd do the same for him.

A minute later, he heard the bathroom door open and close. He took the messily folded clothes upstairs to the laundry room and tossed them in the washing machine (with some tough stain-fighting detergent). The machine was rumbling enthusiastically when he went downstairs. Which, of course, was when he realized that Puck would need clothes to put on when he was clean. He dug through his rarely-used dresser until he found a pair of way-too-big pajama pants and a nightshirt. There was a sense of uncertainty in his gut when he knocked on the bathroom door.

"If you want a change of clothes, cover yourself." For a second he wasn't sure if he'd been heard over the shower noise.

"Come in." Kurt pushed open the door and placed the clothes neatly on the sink counter. He noticed that Puck hadn't stopped the water and thrown a towel around himself (like a normal person), but had just used the shower steam that fogged up the curtain for cover. Kurt learned two things: the jock was either a stupid or friendly drunk (the former being more likely), and he really needed sleep. Being up at weird hours was making him think about things he didn't actually really think about. Like, for instance, that Puck had a really nice silhouette when he was naked. And, on a related note, a nice ass. But none of that was true and none of it mattered, though it still stuck in his mind, poking and prodding his brain matter. He needed to get away from the steam in the room and in his mind.

Trying not to think, Kurt laid on his bed. He wasn't actually going to sleep, just lay there in a half-asleep state until Puck was done with his shower so he could put his clothes in the dryer and make him go home. He most certainly was not thinking that it was almost nice that Puck didn't know that people sometimes beat him up after school and thought that he could handle all of the horrible things that he'd done to him since junior school. And he most certainly was not falling asleep.

* * *

When Kurt woke up, it seemed at first that it was for no reason at all, simply the end of his natural sleep cycle. Then he realized that one side of him was cold. Unsurprising, since he was backwards on his bed and therefore on top of his comforter. And, at around the same time, he realized that he really wasn't breathing all that deeply, since his face was pressed against something. Something warm. Something warm and _moving_ slightly.

_Fuck_.

He knew, of course, that the only real option was that it was Puck. His dad smelled more like car engines and stale junk food, and less like some sort of smoky thing and something a little reminiscent of cinnamon-covered raspberries, which, really, was nothing short of a miracle since Puck had used _his_ soap and was wearing _his_ clothing. Of course, that brought to mind the question of _why the hell_ Puck was in his bed and not at home. Kurt wasn't really one to be subtle, so he jabbed a finger into what he determined to be the other boy's ribcage. He jerked and fell onto the floor abruptly. Kurt peered over the edge of his bed, finding that, for some reason, Puck seemed to still be asleep.

"_Puck_," he whispered. "_Hey! Puck_." There was no response, so he poked him in the shoulder. Hard. Nothing. Kurt rolled his eyes and hopped over the large teen to his iPod and speakers. He turned up the volume as loud as it would go and started blasting "Rent". He always felt that the song had a way of perking him up in the morning. Apparently, Puck thought so too because he sat straight up with his hands clamped over his ears and eyes squeezed shut. Kurt took a moment to appreciate the image before pausing the song.

"Now that I have your attention," he quipped. "You have some explaining to do. Like, for example, why you were in my bed a minute ago and not at home."

"Well, I didn't know where my clothes were and my mom would notice if I came home in clothes that weren't mine."

"And you didn't sleep on Quinn's bed because...?"

"There's some_thing_ on it. It looks sketchy." Kurt grimaced guiltily. That would be the nasty stuff from Q's uterus.

"Yeah. Quinn's water may have broken on there. Sorta forgot about that. _Anyways_. The couch? A delightful alternative."

He frowned, getting defensive. "I was tired. And it's not like I was trying to get into your pants. _Ew_. No. I'm the opposite of gay, so not on your life."

"You do realize that if my dad came down here and saw us in my bed, you would be dead in less than a minute, right? And that the opposite of gay would be unhappy? Just saying." It was true, in more ways than one. When one wasn't busy being the angsty, gay kid with a crush on a straight boy. Other than _that_, it was pretty happy.

"Shut up." He stared into space. "Do you have any aspirin? I've got a bitch of a headache."

"Yeah," he sighed. "You're pitiful, you know that?"

"I'm not pitiful; I'm a stud. You're just jealous and a little turned on by that." Kurt gagged, taking a bottle of aspirin from his medicine cabinet.

"Don't make me vomit. For that, you're going to have to swallow these dry." Puck snorted, obviously finding something pervertedly humorous about his statement. "That doesn't even make_ sense_ out of context." He handed him the bottle and flopped onto his bed.

"Thanks." He looked down at his hands for a minute. "Actually, look, I'm just going to come right out and say this. Um, do you think we can call a truce or something? I just...I feel sorta guilty." Kurt stared at him in disbelief.

"A truce? How can we call a truce if you _hate me_ on principle? You're more of a Neanderthal than I thought."

"I don't _hate_ you. I just...don't know what to do with you. There's a difference. Look, I promise I won't throw you in the dumpsters anymore or push you or send Karofsky love letters with your name on them."

Kurt gaped. "You did _what_? No wonder he freaked out at me last week! I can't believe that was you. You're a jerk, a real jerk, you know that? And I don't want your pity." Puck stared at him, his eyes going wide as if he couldn't believe that someone would reject his offer.

"Come on, I haven't even called your dad's work in months." Kurt stared at him, trying to comprehend how a person could hate another as much as he hated Puck at that moment. The fear he'd seen in his dad's eyes, the anger, when he'd gotten those phone calls...he never wanted to see his dad like that again.

"That's not even _remotely_ forgivable. Messing with my dad is a step too far. I don't care if you _stopped_. You don't know what that did to him." He really wanted to claw Puck's skin off.

"Won't you just give me another chance?" His low, usually-confident voice took on a pleading tone, and his eyes conveyed thousands of apologies. But he couldn't just forgive him like that.

"You've had hundreds of chances, every single time you injure, humiliate, or inconvenience me. I'd say that's more than enough chances."

The sorry look dissolved. "Well, fuck that. Yeah, I can be a bit of an asshole to you, but now I'm trying to make it right. At least let me do that. _Kurt_." Kurt gave him a look.

"We are in no way on first name basis. You've done nothing for me that would warrant that sort of familiarity."

"_Well_? What's it gonna take? Because I'm no good at public humiliation; people just think I'm being studly and hilarious." Beneath the machismo, there was sincerity. Kurt broke.

"Then tell me _something_. Information that would be embarrassing. You owe me at least that." Puck stared at him for a second, then dug through the back pocket of the pajama pants. He settled a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"There. There you go. I, Noah Puckerman, wear glasses. Contacts usually, but I lost one yesterday, so, yeah. I'm a geek." Kurt thought about it for a moment. Sure, glasses weren't exactly as humiliating or degrading as pee balloons, but, considering Puck's aversion to anything remotely nerdy, he considered it to be a step. One of _many_ that he would have to climb before they were on good terms. Think _Eiffel-Tower_ many. Sighing, Kurt ran and picked up his now-dented phone and sat in front of Puck. He snapped a quick picture of him sort-of glaring through his glasses. If anything, it would serve as a cheap sort of blackmail.

"There. I've not yet agreed to the truce, but you may address me by my first name. If you wear your glasses until you leave. Actually..." He checked his phone for the time. It was almost ten. Not only were they missing school, but they had a hospital to get to. His dad really should have called him. "Come on." He marched upstairs, aiming to grab some sort of breakfast and put Puck's clothes in the dryer. Instead, he found his father on the couch, waking up at the sound of their footsteps.

"Oh, hey, Kurt," he said groggily, rubbing his eyes with his palms. He looked up at him. "Oh. Hi, Noah. You're, uh, _here_. Did you sleep over?" Kurt heard the slight warning beneath his sleepy voice.

"Oh, yeah. I just got caught up in the baby drama and I needed someone to talk to. Kurt said I could come over for a little while and I sorta fell asleep on accident." Burt looked at him carefully. "Yeah, and my clothes were really dirty because I tripped outside, so Kurt washed them. So he gave me his clothes. So I wouldn't be naked...yeah..." It was perhaps not the best response, but Kurt was thankful that his dad seemed to not think too much of it.

"Alright. By the way, nice glasses." It almost made him giggle at how embarrassed Puck looked. It wasn't quite a blush, but it was getting there.

"They're for reading. And driving. And seeing things. And I have to _go_. Over there." He started walking away, and Kurt actually smiled, edging him to the laundry room. He tossed the clothes in the dryer and hopped on top of it. Puck gave him a look.

"Don't hate on the man who's doing your laundry."

"Yeah, there's only one man in this room, and that's me. So I'm free to hate whoever I want."

"Jerk. Although I guess I can't be too mad since you didn't try to get me to wash your underwear." Puck shifted uneasily.

"About that...I don't really believe in underwear. I was - and am - sort of going commando. Sorry. Should've warned you, but real studs don't wear underwear. You should know that."

Kurt choked. "Gag me with a spoon. You'll be keeping those pants, or I'm going to have to burn them."

"I don't know. Maybe you should keep them so my manliness can rub off on you. Then maybe you won't be so much of a girl."

"I am _not_ rubbing myself on the pants you wore without underwear. Dream on."

"That's definitely not something I dream about. Ever. So don't get your hopes up." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Fine. You can deal with your own laundry. I have to go change; I'm wearing yesterday's clothes. That is so gross. And I didn't exfoliate last night. If I break out, it's your fault." He did his best to push thoughts of Quinn from his mind. They would go see her as soon as Puck's clothes were dry. Truth be told, he felt guilty for not having been thinking about her and the baby, and only them, since he got home. To be fair, Puck was quite a distraction, with his injuries and general stupidity.

Kurt had just reached his stairs when he heard his dad's voice call him from the living room. "Kurt? That you?" Kurt pranced into the other room.

"Yes, it's me. Just going to get dressed. You need anything?"

"Nah. Just making sure you're okay. Are things alright with Noah?"

"Yeah. He's...annoying, but fine. We've called a truce. Well, not quite, but it's getting there. And he's straight as a board. So. Not to worry." He skipped downstairs and found the outfit he'd planned for that day, a meticulously planned ensemble that continued his long tradition of fierce, ultra-fashionable somewhat-expensive clothing: a dark, lush turtleneck, a very posh scarf, and one of his best (and tightest) pairs of skinnies. Luckily, his skin hadn't suffered too much from the recent stress, but he could see some light pattern dryness beginning between his eyebrows and around his mouth. Some moisturizer and a few deft strokes with a fine-toothed comb later, and he was fabulous, as usual.

By the time he got back to the laundry room, Puck was dressed in his clothes (though his glasses were nowhere in sight), having changed in the little room. "Come on, Mohawk. Let's go see your baby mama," Kurt sighed. He noticed happily that the blood stains had disappeared, a testament to his laundry prowess. That cheery thought in mind, Kurt, of course, drove them to the hospital. After checking them in, they went to Quinn's hospital room. At first glance, she seemed to be asleep, but he noticed a little bit of movement and went inside. She sat up to greet them, looking haggard and dark, perhaps from a lack of makeup.

"Hey, Q," Kurt said gently, sitting on the edge of her bed. Puck stood in the doorway; she didn't look at him. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm better. They've got me on some stuff, so I'm pretty tired, but I'm basically alright."

"What about-"

"I signed the papers. I put her up for adoption. I didn't even name her." Kurt looked at her for a little while. All of the repercussions of that decision seemed to weigh her down, to press in on her from all sides, and she was cracking under the pressure. But there was a hard light in her eyes that showed that she believed it was the right decision. Considering her age and total lack of funds, it probably was.

"So that's it, then? I don't even have a choice in all this?" Puck asked quietly. She stared at him.

"You couldn't be a father and I didn't want you to be. I wasn't about to raise her on my own. That would have been bad for everyone. And it's my decision anyway. I don't really know what you're doing here right now," she snapped. She had the air of a wounded animal cornered by a predator, wild and desperate.

"You know what? You're right." Puck turned and left angrily. Quinn shrugged as if it meant nothing to her, but he could see that she was little more than a collection of fractures held together by her own will.

"Come on, Quinn. That's not fair. He _was_ trying," Kurt said softly.

She sighed. "He couldn't handle parenthood. Neither could I. Besides, what's done is done." She looked down. "What were you doing here with him anyway?"

"He was a bit messed up about everything. Apparently, the mother of his child didn't call him when she went into labor." He gave her a pointed look, and she shook her head. He almost regretted saying it, but someone had to stand up for the father. Even if he was an idiot. "So he showed up at my place. I guess he didn't really have anywhere to go. He and Finn aren't really talking yet, Rachel's _Rachel_, and I don't think he's really doing anything with Santana anymore. I don't think he's not really in a good place right now, considering that he came to _me_ for someone to talk to. Well, I suppose I _was_ the one to tell him your were here. Pretty loudly, too. But the idiot's desperate."

"I don't regret what I did. He'll appreciate it later. It's not like he could deal with being a father anyway." A couple shards of her broken composure fell free.

"He would have tried, at least. That's better than a lot of people." He placed his hand over hers. "Is there anything you want me to bring for you? Do you know how long you'll be here?"

"The doctors said they wanted to keep me another night, and then I can't go back to school for another few days. I'm not supposed to 'exert myself' for two weeks or something like that. Good thing I don't have to worry about the Cheerios."

"Alright. Well, I'm going to take Noah home. I'll be back in a little bit."

"He's 'Noah' now?" she asked, giving him a curious look.

"I don't know. I'm letting him call me 'Kurt', so I figure I should probably call him by his name at least some of the time." She nodded as if she didn't agree or understand, and he hoped she wouldn't question him; he hadn't actually meant to call Puck by his first name. "I'll see you soon, 'kay?" She nodded and gave him a weary smile, invisible cracks spreading over her face from the stress. Aching, Kurt left her, hoping Puck wouldn't be too hard to find. In fact, he was in the waiting room, glaring at the linoleum. Kurt kicked his shoe lightly.

"Please tell me you're not okay with this," he murmured, seemingly lost in thought. There was a lot wrong with the situation, but he couldn't say. It wasn't his place, and this time, he cared.

"I don't know. It doesn't have anything to do with me, so I'm not in a good place to judge. Now come on. I'm taking to my house to get your car and then you're going home. You can't just hang out here; it's not good for you. So get off your ass." Surprisingly, Puck actually did what he was told. A couple minutes later, they were back at the Hummel residence. Kurt bid Puck good riddance and grabbed a few things for Quinn before heading back to the hospital, wishing he didn't have to face the broken girl, though he knew that he would have to see her in pieces before she came back together.


	4. Chapter 4: One More Time With Feeling

_"Hold on, one more time with feeling_  
_Try it again, breathing's just a rhythm_  
_Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right_  
_This is why we fight"_

"One More Time With Feeling" by Regina Spektor_  
_

* * *

By the time Quinn got back to school, she was not only less pregnant-looking (and slightly more solid, if it wasn't just that she'd figured out how to hide that she was split into pieces), but the entire school knew she'd had the baby and was intent on reacting in their own way. The Cheerios sneered less. Boys actually had the nerve to flirt with her now that the baby bump was less noticeable. The Glee Club tried to throw a baby shower, but luckily Kurt was one of the first to hear of the idea and shut it down. If there was anything she _didn't_ need, it was another reminder of the baby. Though Schu refused to let her do more than sing until she had a doctor's note saying that she was healthy enough.

In private, she seemed a bit quieter than she used to be, but Kurt figured that it was a phase that would pass once the shock of giving up her baby for adoption wore off and she'd healed at least somewhat. She—perhaps in an effort to forget all about the baby—didn't like to talk to him much and Mercedes spent most of her time giving him weird looks, so that was probably why Kurt allowed Puck to talk to him on occasion. True to his word, he'd stopped getting thrown into the dumpster before school. Though, of course, he'd also found a new route into the building that didn't take him past the usual spot.

A week and a half after Quinn returned to school, he was running a little late because of a moisturizer-spill, so he went the old way. Karofsky and the usual gang of stupid homophobes from his after school "get-togethers" were standing a little bit in front of his usual dumpster, looking decidedly suspicious. He tried to edge around them without being seen, but before he even got within fifteen feet of the dumpster, meaty hands dug into his forearms. _Foiled again_, he cursed in his mind. With his luck, he'd probably land in chili or something equally unpleasant.

Accepting his fate, he bit out, "One day, you will all have gay sons and no grandchildren." As he braced himself for the drop, he spotted (way over on the other side of the parking lot) a decidedly atrocious mohawk. The mohawk began growing a little larger, quite quickly, but the disgustingly large football players tossed him over the unforgiving metal side to a chorus of deep, acidic laughter before he could actually make out Puck's features. As usual, his landing was somewhat soft, which never failed to disturb him. Something wet seeped through his pant leg, but he refused to let himself gag. He found his hat, but stopped when he heard something peculiar a couple feet from the waste-filled hell.

"Really, Karofsky, did you have nothing better to do? He's one little kid. I'm surprised it took five of you get him in. Though, I suppose, you _are_ a bunch of pussies." There was the soft sound of flesh colliding and a low grunt. A second later, faster than he could react to, a very heavy person landed on top of him. Kurt pushed Puck's bulky body off of his already-mussed outfit and let out a sigh. The other boy seemed to have been punched in the stomach from the gasping, retching noises he was making. That always hurt like a bitch.

"Have fun in the dumpster with your boyfriend, Puckerman!" a deep and remarkably stupid voice jeered. Their laughter died away as the group of jocks walked towards the main building. The cheery rectangle of blue sky looming above seemed to be mocking them.

"Well, that was stupid," Kurt commented blankly.

Puck coughed. "This _sucks_. I can see why you always made such a fuss about it." He removed the remains of a breakfast taco from his trademark mohawk. "Ugh. Beans. In. My. Hair. I think I'm gonna puke. Then take a really long shower."

"Good luck with that. School starts in five minutes. We've got to get out of here." Kurt sat up, inspecting the damage to his pants and jacket. He'd definitely seen worse. It was better than morning all the eggs from the cafeteria's breakfast arrived rotten and had to be thrown away before school. He'd had to hold a wake for his favorite Fedora that morning and the smell didn't wear off until the third wash. Shuddering at the memory, he tried to stand.

Puck raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Uh, my first period class. Where else?" Kurt moved a half-full carton of orange juice away from its dangerous position near his leg.

"You're seriously considering going to school like this? We _reek_."

"You never seemed to care about that when you were the one throwing me in. Besides, we got lucky. They emptied all the dumpsters yesterday. And there's no pudding or cake. Those are two of the hardest things to get out of your clothes, second to the mystery meat goulash."

"It is _so_ fucked up that you're acting like this is normal."

"Says the one who made it so. Now get up. You'll be late."

"_Hell_ no. I'm not going to class until I've had a shower _and_ a change of clothes." Kurt stood and stepped over Puck, finding his usual foothold and hoisting himself up so that he was sitting on the edge. He sat and finger-combed bits of paper out of his hair, looking down at his dumpster partner, who was staring at him as if he was crazy. Puck also seemed to have his elbow in a bowl of day-old macaroni.

"Don't be such a lightweight. Get up and go to class. Worse things have happened. It's not the damn pee balloons, so quit whining. You don't get to skip unless your hair is soaked in urine."

Puck seemed to zone out. "You know, Karofsky was actually against filling them with pee. He had other, more revolting ideas. _Similar_ ideas, if you catch my drift. He thought it was fitting. He's sort of a bitch, actually." Kurt didn't think he'd ever been so insulted or revolted at the same time before in his entire life. There were institutions for people like that.

"That's the most dis-" Something hit him in the side of his face and splattered him with something gooey. Several more small, brightly colored projectiles whizzed at him, so he jumped/fell back into the dumpster just in time to see one explode against Puck's chest. Bile rose in his throat when he saw the wet patch. Puck stared down at his chest. Speak of the devil…

"I know what that looks like, but it can't be. They do have limits. There's no way they could have filled _that many_ balloons in that amount of time." He slowly lowered a finger to the mess on his shirt, then breathed a sigh of relief. "Mayonnaise. Watered-down mayonnaise. I'm pretty sure. It smells like mayonnaise. And it's a little clumpy, anyway, and not _quite_ the right color."

"_Really_? When confronted with the idea that a bunch of your friends just threw water balloons filled with their semen at us, your immediate thought is 'they couldn't have filled that many balloons so quickly'? Not 'as human beings, they would have drawn the line there'? You're such a freak."

"I'm not the one with watery mayonnaise all over my face."

Kurt gave him a sharp glare. "Fuck you. This is abominable. Sickening. Now give me your shirt."

Puck smirked. "Wow. I didn't think that dumpster dives turned you on after all this time. But is this really the place for that? It's hard to get in the mood when you're sitting in yesterday's enchiladas." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"For my _face_, you perv. It's not like you're going to be able to clean that out, so I might as well make use of it." He did _not_ mention that Puck had just made his first gay innuendo. He had a feeling that it was accidental and if he said anything about it, the former bully would go psycho-homophobe on him. Though, despite it being completely unwanted and immature, he felt that it showed that he was making progress and becoming a little nicer. Nice enough to earn him a first name, at least. Maybe not just then, but he would, at some time in the near future, call Noah Puckerman by his first name because that's what you did with friends, and when someone got themselves thrown in a dumpster for you, there wasn't anything else to call it. And when said friend pulled his shirt over his head, he didn't stare at him because that _wasn't_ something friends did. He did, however, use the shirt to wipe the more-than-vaguely nauseating goo from his face. Which was when the first bell rang, mocking and loud.

The mohawked boy shrugged, offering, "What do you say? Mayo-balloons enough to make you skip?" Kurt frowned.

"Is there any in my hair?" He turned his head so _Noah_ could see.

"Yep. It's greasy and sticky. You'll probably have to wash your hair so you don't get split ends or something like that. So you should wash it right away. At home. And not here."

"Nice try. Mayonnaise is actually great for adding shine and moisture and definitely doesn't give one split ends, but I should probably shampoo it anyway." He considered his options (the school showers or his own shower) and decided quickly. "I'll skip with you. But only until lunch, at the latest."

"Sweet. Now gimme my shirt back. This is going to look sketchy enough without me shirtless. I'm not gonna have rumors spreading that you and I are fooling around in dumpsters. That's just plain weird." Kurt shook his head and handed him the shirt. They climbed out—though Noah's inexperience showed in his somewhat clumsy half-fall from the top—and headed to their respective cars and homes.

An hour later, Kurt was clean, dressed in a change of clothes, and had blow-dried his hair so that it looked precisely as it had before the whole dumpster business. He pulled out his phone, texting Noah to see if he was cleaned up and going back yet. A second later, he heard a faint buzzing from his bathroom. For a brief moment, he thought he was being stalked and about to be killed, but an inspection of his bathroom revealed Noah's phone, which he must have left when he was there nearly two weeks before. It was sort of sad that he hadn't found it yet, but perhaps he used his phone less than Kurt did.

Sighing, he turned it on and saw a little message about the text he'd just sent. The curious thing, however, was that Noah had changed his contact name. Not to his actual name, as he'd expected, but to the rather peculiar "Queen Mab", accompanied by a picture of him. _Asleep_. Meaning that it had been awkwardly taken when he'd spent the night. Quite strange indeed. Though, considering that the picture he had chosen for the other boy was the somewhat cute (in a child-like way, of course) one of him in his glasses, he couldn't blame the boy for finding a somewhat-embarrassing picture of him. Still, a tiny part of him was still a little creeped out that Noah had taken a picture of him sleeping. They would have to have a little discussion about that. As soon as he tracked him down.

It was actually both easier and harder than he'd imagined to find his address. He'd expected to spend hours with a phonebook, but, instead, he'd gotten the rather brilliant idea to find his address with facebook, though he felt a little stupid for not thinking of it earlier. Fifteen minutes later, he was parked outside Noah's house and humming contentedly. It was a little smaller than he'd imagined and not on the wealthiest side of town, but it looked thoroughly middle-class. The only car in the driveway was the football player's, so he walked up and knocked without any hesitation. When Noah answered, he looked a bit surprised.

"Hey, Noah. I tried to text you, but I found your phone in my bathroom." He handed it to him, making sure to look a little annoyed and prissy so that he wouldn't notice that he'd just used his first name.

"Oh. Thanks. I've been looking for that. Do you wanna come in?"

"Sure." He went inside, noticing the small, familial living room. "So, Queen Mab, huh? Going to explain that one?"

"We were reading Romeo and Juliet in English when you texted me. I guess I was trying to be clever; I thought the fairy midwife was a little more fitting, what with Quinn and all."

"...And my masculinity takes another blow. But that's fine. I thought we were going to have an awkward situation."

"Why?"

"Well, I thought it might be a reference to the whole Mercutio-being-in-love-with-Romeo thing, since that whole scene was rather flirtatious. I thought you might think, like most homophobes, that since I like boys, I would have to like _every_ boy I saw, including you. Well, _specifically_ you. Which would be stupid, in case you were wondering."

Noah stared at him for a second. "Don't you like Finn?" Kurt froze. _Finn_. He hadn't thought about Finn more than in passing in what felt like ages. Obviously, the whole thing with Quinn having her baby had distracted him, since he was very much entirely in love with him. Finn was as much a part of him as his impeccable taste. He was impossible to forget, or should be.

"Yeah. That's right. I do. A lot."

"Then _obviously_ I wouldn't think you had the hots for me. I'm not that stupid." There was a long awkward silence.

"Right. So, I think I left my backpack at my house. I just realized that. I'm going to go get it." He hoped that his excuse to leave didn't sound as awkward as he felt.

"Whatever. After that, you wanna come back here and play video games for a little while?"

"Yeah. Sounds great." It wasn't until Kurt had gotten to his car that he realized that he didn't play video games at all. And that his backpack was on the passenger seat. He went home anyway; he needed to talk to his mom.

* * *

In his dad's room, he felt a strange sort of pity. It really was a little sad that after ten years, his mother's dresser was still standing against one wall, exactly as she'd left it, and all of her clothes were still in the closet as if she'd just gone to the store. However, he was glad that those things, those solid memories, at least allowed him to imagine her when he needed to. He sat in front of her dresser the way he used to when he was a child and pulled open a drawer. Face pressed to her blouses, he let the image of his mother fill his closed eyes.

She was always young when he imagined her, and sort of glowing. He supposed it was because she was always more of a feeling than anything else. To him, she was pure love, complete unconditional acceptance in anything he did. She was who he went to in sixth grade when he realized that it wasn't normal that to him, girls still had cooties—but boys sure didn't—and in seventh grade when he had his first real crush, a genuinely nice boy who moved away that year, and he thought his life had ended. She was the one he went to when he realized that people sort of hated him, and the first time Noah Puckerman (or anyone for that matter) actually did something about it. He went to her when he first met Finn and found someone who would defend him, then when he found out Quinn was pregnant with Finn's baby, before he knew it was a lie. Every time he went to her, his mother offered not necessarily advice, but real _love_. A guarantee that whatever he did, he was worth something.

But now, he was confused. It'd been a while since he'd talked to her, and a lot had happened since then. Finn wasn't a father, Finn was dating Rachel, Quinn sort of moved in, and then there was the curious case of Noah Puckerman. The first time he'd ever told her about him, he'd been in tears, astounded that someone could hate him so much for something he had no control over, something that seemed totally natural to him. Now, he just didn't know what to think. If there was one thing he didn't know how to handle, it was Noah being nice to him. At first, the idea was nothing more than a shadow of a thought, but the whole incident with the dumpster solidified it. A person doesn't get himself thrown into a dumpster for someone they hate. That just didn't make sense. The problem was, he didn't know how to deal with the idea of a friendship with the first person who ever pushed him around or made fun of him for being gay. The whole scenario was simply uncomfortable.

His mother, wispy brown hair floating around her face and somehow glowing from the inside, smiled at him. "_Give the boy a chance,_" she said, her voice resonating in his mind. "_Maybe he changed his mind_."

"Why should I trust him? Why should I let him be my friend?" She gave him a warm smile for an answer. "Do I still love Finn?"

There was no answer, just warmth. He laid on the carpet, pondering. _Did_ he love him? He didn't think about him like he used to, or stare at him anymore, though that could just be simple distraction. But he still wanted him. He wanted that sort of benevolent presence in his life, someone to stand up for him even if he didn't have to. Perhaps, maybe, someone not quite so tall. He felt short enough already (though 5' 8" was a perfectly average height for a teenage boy, he kept telling himself), but he didn't need a six-and-a-half foot tall boyfriend to make him look like a twelve-year-old girl in comparison. And maybe someone with more IQ points than their (failing) grade in math would be nice. And, well, an attraction to boys wouldn't be so bad either. Which basically meant that he would die single if he never left Lima.

He closed the drawers, erasing any indication that he'd been there. He would let his father believe that _he_ was the only one who still talked to her because that was how it always was. His house felt oppressively empty now that she was gone again. It was enough to push him back out of the door and to the waiting house of the Puckermans. Noah answered the door looking like he wasn't angry, which, for some reason, made him seem uncomfortable. It was a sad statement on their relationship thus far that a not-angry Noah was something to be concerned about.

"Hey. Come on upstairs," he said simply, and Kurt followed. In a couple minutes, he was sitting against Puck's bed with a game controller in his hands and suddenly, all pressure for actual social interaction was erased. They played some horrific game that involved walking around as a pimp, stealing cars, beating up random people on the street, and slapping hoes. It wasn't the sort of thing Kurt enjoyed, but he had fun dressing his pimp in the most outrageously flamboyant outfit he could. It definitely explained a lot about Noah's attitude towards just about everything though. He would have to agree with anyone who said that violence in video games led to violent behavior later on.

After about an hour, Kurt felt like it was safe to ask something that had been bothering him. "So, you remember back in junior high when you told everyone you saw me checking out other boys in the locker rooms? How did you see that?"

"What the hell? That's got to be the most random thing anyone's ever asked me in my life." Kurt held his questioning look steady. "Let me answer that with another question: have you ever worn something remotely heterosexual in your life?" Kurt was shocked.

"Ouch. I'm not even sure _why_ I'm offended by that. But it's not like I purposely find the 'gayest' clothes I own to wear each day." His character in the game started beating up a gangbanger with a broken stop sign.

"But considering that I've seen you wear a skirt to school, I think we can agree that anyone would know that you're gay. So there."

"Touché." There was a long, papery silence. He could hear the edges crinkling around them, fragile and somehow new.

"So, it's not like I'm getting into your whole queer-musical thing, but I found this musical online when I was looking at something for _Spring_ _Awakening_. It's called _Bare: A Pop Opera_. Have you heard of it?"

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, nice try with the 'not-gay' thing. _Bare_ wins first place at the gay pageant. Or at least wins second-runner-up, just behind _Rent _and _**Zanna, Don't!**_. Why? You think you're the next Jason?" Considering the whole accidental-impregnation thing and the boy's egotistical fascination with himself as the leading man in everything, it was possible.

"_No_! I'm not gay. I just like some of the music. And it has a _rave_. That's pretty sweet. If I had to be in a musical, it would have to have a rave."

"I really have nothing to say to that."

"It's because I'm too studly." He beat up a slightly anorexic-looking crack whore. "Do you watch any movies?"

"Movies? Not really. Not anything recent, unless you count _High School Musical_, and that was only because I was young and impressionable and thought they based the character of Sharpay's brother off me."

"I don't know what that means. But my mom's getting into one of her weird moods where all she wants to do is bitch at me about not having a girlfriend, more specifically, a Jewish girl who'll have a bunch of Jew babies, and lay on the couch watching _The Boy In the Striped Pajamas_ and _Schindler's List_. I think it's one of those faith-crisis things, but it's sorta freaking me out. The other day, she told my sister that she was going to set her up with a rabbi. I think she was drunk, but still. My sister's _twelve_. But anyway, she's sorta thrown every movie that doesn't have a Jewish theme into the garbage disposal and I need movies. All I've got is porn, and that gets old after a while. I just need to watch a _real_ movie. At someone else's house, so my mom doesn't burn it 'like our brethren in Auschwitz'."

"Fine. But I'm picking the movie." He could see from Noah's expression that he was regretting it already. Distraction was needed. "Let's get some lunch."

"What? You _eat_? I thought you were manorexic." Kurt was genuinely pissed off by that assumption.

"What are you talking about? Just because I like men and dress well doesn't mean I don't eat. I have a healthy body weight and I'm not some insecure little _girl_. Sure, I like that I'm willowy, but that doesn't mean I have an eating disorder."

"Oh. I just thought you were really skinny and didn't eat. I don't think I've ever seen you eat more than a couple of bites of Chinese."

"I know you're just jealous of my girlish figure."

"Yeah. _Right_. Like someone with _these guns_ would want to a have your little ballerina body." He rolled his eyes. "I'm a sexy badass; you're the one who should be jealous." Kurt raised an eyebrow, but took a quick second to look at the "guns". Yeah, he was a little jealous; he'd never have muscle definition like that. And, well, they were _nice_. Which, really, he couldn't help. He _could_, however, ignore it. Because the best way to screw up a possible friendship with a straight guy was to become attracted to him. That just never ended well, from what he'd read and the whole thing with Finn. So he wasn't even going to _consider_ the possibility, which was easier than it sounded, since, well, it was _Noah_, who was also Puck, who was a jackass and a homophobe.

"I would never give up my ability to fit into a size four dress. _Not that I actually wear dresses_. But it's useful, if one's in the theater business. I'll be able to play women and young boys for as long as I stay skinny. Since that's basically all I can sing, it works out pretty well."

"Wait, are you planning on going Broadway after high school?" Noah's voice was strangely quiet.

"Well, _yeah_," he said, annoyed because it _was_ the most obvious thing in the world. "What else would I do? I mean, there _is_ fashion design, but that business is full of bitchy people, and I'm more than enough diva for myself to handle."

"Oh. Right. So. _Lunch_."

"Yes. I was thinking we could go grab burgers or something. We have enough time to be back at school by the end of lunch." Noah agreed, and they met at a burger joint near the school. Kurt felt a strange mixture of amusement and anger when the jock made fun of him for eating with his pinkies extended and eating a ridiculously manly burger (which was really just a way to spite him). When they got back to school and went their separate ways, Kurt felt somewhat normal for reasons he couldn't explain.

* * *

After school, however, several problems arose. Specifically, there were five of them and they were about two hundred pounds each. Kurt knew them as the fuckers who liked to beat him up after practice. Noah knew them as the idiots he thought he was friends with. They definitely weren't being friendly then, however.

"So, fags. We were thinking about giving you a little 'coming-out' present. Because we're just so happy for you."

"No!" Noah defended. "Hummel and I are _not_ dating. Or _anything_." A little piece of Kurt shriveled up and ran away when he heard that. Obviously, he had no illusions about their friendship being anything more (he really wasn't stupid or interested), but he thought he could at least simply call them friends after that morning, at least. And deserved to be called by his first name. Apparently _not_.

"Aw. You're going to make your little boyfriend think you don't love him. We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Karofsky sneered. That was when Noah did a stupid thing. A _very_ stupid thing.

He fought back.

His first punch landed on the bigger jock's jaw squarely, but it sent the other four leaping at him. Kurt watched, shell-shocked, as Noah disappeared in a mass of flying fists and gay slurs. The sickening sound of each blow landing, amplified by his fear, echoed in his ears. His mind kept repeating one sentence: _it's all my fault_. Ignoring his cardinal rule when it came to dealing with the jocks, he pushed himself into the foray, punching and kicking blindly until he felt blows meeting him. It wasn't long before he simply gave up and allowed the assault to rain down on him. His eyes were squeezed shut in an effort to distance himself from what was going on around him, but he sill felt every punch, kick, elbow, and knee sharply. He sensed Noah go down near him which only made it worse; it would take a lot to make _him _go down. There was no chance that they'd escape intact. It was all his fault. He'd dragged Noah into realizing that he was an asshole and reforming, to an extent. Now Noah was getting beat up and it was his fault. He might as well have been the one throwing the punches.

"_Hey_! What's going on over there!" An adult male voice startled their attackers, who immediately ceased their assault. Kurt heard curses as they scattered. A minute later, a gentle hand was on his back. "Kurt? Puck? Are you guys okay? Do you know who attacked you?" asked the soft voice of Mr. Schu.

"No," he whimpered, ashamed of how small he felt.

"Come on. Let me take you two to the hospital."

"No, we're fine-" He stopped short when he looked up and saw Noah's face. And promptly passed out.

* * *

When he came to, he wasn't in the mood to move. Or even open his eyes. He let the smooth, melodic tones of Noah's voice wash over him, then cursed in his head when a high, nasal voice stopped the musical flow of sound. A second or two later, he started to actually comprehend what was being said.

"...You shouldn't be going home yet. You've got two fractured ribs, thirteen stitches and a concussion, not to mention possible bruised bones in your jaw, forearms, knuckles, and collarbone, and your friend hasn't even woken up yet. I'm not signing you out to leave yet. Not without a guardian's signature."

"Come on. Mr. Schuester can sign for us. He checked us in. I don't think he's left yet. _And_ he's our teacher. He sees us more than our parents do." A long pause.

"Fine. But you still can't leave until the kid wakes up. We need to do a few tests on him when he comes to. I'll have a nurse bring you some aspirin. And keep your ribs wrapped up for at least two weeks."

"Thanks, doc." The doctor muttered something about a lack of respect, and Kurt heard his footsteps recede. "This is all my fault," Noah whispered. Kurt felt a hand smooth his hair gently and thought it was time to "wake up" before anything got weird. He made a little groan and moved a tiny bit.

He breathed, "Meh. Where are we?" He cracked his eyes open one at a time. Noah's face looked a lot better than it had when he was last conscious; the blood had been washed away so he could actually discern his features.

"The hospital, you booger."

"_Booger_? I don't think I've been called a booger since I was in the first grade."

"Yeah, well. That's what you get." Noah didn't meet his eyes.

"So, are we going home soon? Wait, how did we get here?"

"Schu drove us in his car. And he better give us a ride back to the school when they let us go free. Which should be in about ten or fifteen minutes. I think they wanna check if you have a concussion or something. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I feel fine. A few bruises and scrapes, not much worse than anything before. _You_, however, look like a baby put through a blender. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Nothing hurts or anything, so it just looks worse than it is, and the doctor said there wasn't anything wrong with me. I _am_ a little creeped out that you just compared me to a dead baby, but whatever." From what he heard earlier, Kurt knew he was lying. The question was _why_? A second later, a nurse came in with a small plastic cup of pills and a glass of water for Noah, who swallowed them quickly.

"Well, then," she said. "I'll just be telling the doctor you're awake." She left and Noah fidgeted on the exam table, crinkling the paper loudly.

"I assumed you didn't want anyone to know about this, so I told Schu I called your dad, but I didn't. I still think you should tell him or the principal about this, though. It's not right for them to be beating you up like that."

"Beating _me_ up? You're the one they turned on! You really look terrible." Kurt surveyed the stitched, split eyebrow, black eye, remnants of a drop of blood at the base of his nostril, busted lip, and various bruises on his face, including a particularly nasty looking one on his jaw. The sight filled him with a nearly-suffocating wave of guilt. _That_ was what happened when he tried to be friends with people. Pain and suffering and lies. He was like a magnet for suffering.

"Really, I'm fine. Do you think I could come over to your house, though? You've probably got some sort of makeup or something; my mom will freak if she thinks I've been getting into fights again." He considered it. Sure, prolonged exposure to the virtual black hole of his presence would only be worse for Noah in the long run, but he felt like he at least needed to do that for him.

"Yeah. It's cool. My dad likes you." He pushed his hair back off his forehead. "If you want, you can make brownies with me."

Noah's eyes lit up. "Pot brownies?" He rolled his eyes.

"No. Normal chocolate brownies. It's sort of a ritual I guess. If I have a bad day at school, I like to make brownies."

"You make chocolate desserts when people beat you up?" Kurt was a little amused that he could be that transparent.

"You could say that. I just like something warm and chocolaty to cheer me up."

"Not afraid it'll go to your hips?"

"Oh, _please_. My metabolism's fast enough for me to eat nothing but greasy burritos and pizza without gaining an ounce. And even if I would become obese from just one brownie, I'd eat a whole pan. So there."

"Fat ass," he snorted, but wore a little grin.

"Jerk." The doctor came in then, and shone a light in Kurt's eyes, made him follow his finger and squeeze his hands. Schu came into the little exam room in the middle of the ordeal and leaned against the wall, watching carefully. When the doctor decided that he was alive and healthy, despite a few bruises and cuts and what proved to be a barely-sprained wrist, Schu took Kurt and Noah back to his car. Kurt was a little pissed that he had to climb in the back, but it beat walking. Once they were about halfway back to the school, Schu began talking.

"I need you guys to tell me who did this. I don't care about any _code of silence_ or whatever it is you want to call it. I was a kid once too, and we did the same thing. But this isn't a slushie to the face; this is _violence_. I'm not going to allow you to let them get away with it. Tell me who did this. I won't say that it was you who told me; I'll tell Principal Figgins that I saw them myself."

"And get attacked by twice as many of them tomorrow? I don't think so," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I know you're just trying to help, but it's really not necessary. We're fine. As long as we don't provoke them, we'll be fine."

"Oh, and what did you do to provoke them today, huh, Kurt?" he spat. "People like this, people who hurt others just because they can and they want to, don't _deserve_ your fear or your mercy."

"I know. But… I don't want my dad to be worried. It's not so bad and he's got enough to worry about. He shouldn't have to suffer because of what I am." Kurt stared out of the window. He saw Noah staring at him in the rearview mirror and averted his eyes.

"_What you are_? What you are is a teenage boy, a talented singer, and the only person I know of who's brave enough to make the football team dance _on the field_ to a Beyoncé song. You're perfectly normal, at worst, and at best, a miracle worker. It's not your fault that some people are assholes, if you'll excuse my language."

Noah snorted. "Schu, I know you're trying to help, but we're fine. He knows he's amazing. Let him be the better man and not tell on anyone. He's _fine_. No one really got hurt, so it doesn't matter," he said quietly. "It'll be better for everyone in the long run."

"Really, Puck? Do you _really_ believe that? We're a _team_. You could at least _try_ to do what's right for your fellow Glee Club member. This can't be the first time it's happened. You must have known about it. I know you care at least a little bit. Do what's right and think about someone other than yourself for once."

"Oh, look, we're here," Kurt said cheerily to change the subject. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Schu. Good talk!" He burst out of the car as quickly as could be considered casual, throwing a wave over his shoulder. He didn't look back until he was in his car, beating his head against the steering wheel. _It was all his fault._ He was a walking plague. All he did was get people hurt and, best case scenario, get them bitched at. It wasn't like Noah was a target before he came along. It was getting dangerous, and that wasn't okay. He could tell that Noah wanted nothing more than to get away from him, and he probably should. He'd drawn enough of the people he cared about into his whirlpool to drown, and Noah wasn't going to be another. Tonight, he'd tell him to go. For good.

* * *

**A little dark, I know, but the next chapter's got some fluff...**


	5. Chapter 5: Do You Know What I'm Seeing?

_"I know it's mad, but if I go to hell_  
_ Will you come with me or just leave?_  
_ I know it's mad, but if the world were ending_  
_ Would you kiss me or just leave me?_  
_ Just leave me?"_

"Do You Know What I'm Seeing?" by Panic At The Disco_  
_

* * *

At the Hummel household, Kurt was surprised to find that his father was nowhere to be seen. Quinn was in the basement, reading a book for an English project that was due the next day, so she was in full study mode. She hadn't even really noticed that Kurt was there when he dropped his backpack off by his bed. He took his handy concealer back up the stairs with him and left her to her own devices. Almost automatically, he handed the little bottle to Noah and got out the ingredients for the box-ready brownies. When he had everything laid out on the counter, he noticed that the other boy hadn't done more than stare at the bottle.

"I suppose you could try absorbing it into your skin through osmosis, but most people simply put it on their faces."

"Well, some of us don't use makeup. Ever. Forgive me if I don't know what to do with it," he snapped, then softened, offering a silent apology.

Kurt sighed. "Give it here, you hopeless wretch." He unscrewed the bottle, a little amused by how much paler the color was than Noah's skin. He put a little bit on his finger and dabbed it lightly onto the largest and most colorful bruise on his jaw. Some careful blending turned the pretty scary-looking bruise into a slightly pinkish-gray blemish, which (after some careful eye makeup application that made it look almost natural) was much better than before. The same treatment was used for all of the remaining facial bruises. "Well, it won't do if someone's inspecting your face in good light, but if it's dark and you walk quickly, no one'll notice anything. Now grab yourself an apron and get to work. We've got brownies to bake." Kurt grabbed his own apron, a frilly pink number that he would go to his grave claiming was of a new retro-indie fusion style and very much the rage in certain circles, but was really just his mother's.

They got to work cracking eggs (which Noah was pretty good at) and measuring and pouring dry ingredients (which Noah was _awful_ at) and making a general chocolaty mess of the kitchen. By the time they poured the batter into a pan, there was milk spilled all over the floor and vegetable oil smeared on the refrigerator. Kurt hopped onto his counter with the bowl in his lap. He always left a little more than most after the pouring so he could eat the batter raw. His tongue cleaned the wooden spoon while Noah raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's disgusting."

"Obviously you've never tried it then." He held a battery spatula out. The other boy took it cautiously, inspecting the brown goop as if it were possibly lethal. A tiny smirk formed on his face, the only warning before he flicked the spatula, covering Kurt in a spray of chocolate. He gaped. "Oh, it is _on_." He jumped down from the counter, scooping some batter into his fingers. Noah was too slow to escape. He smeared the brownie mix onto his mouth. A pink tongue darted out and licked a little bit off his finger. Kurt stared, surprised, and forgot to move. His wrist was taken in a firm grip, and Noah licked a line of batter off of one of his fingers. A small, choked noise leaped from his throat. There was a stirring in (and, quite possibly, _below_) his gut that made tremors dance along his spine.

"Uh, _hi_, Noah," a rather surprised voice said from the doorway. They jumped apart, quickly facing Burt Hummel.

"Oh, uh, hi, Mr. Hummel. How are you?" Noah quickly answered. Kurt prayed he wasn't as red as he thought he might be, an altogether hopeless prayer.

"Fine. Are you guys baking or _wearing_ brownies?" his dad joked, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, he hadn't seen anything...weird.

"Baking, Dad. I'll clean up the kitchen, I promise."

"No problem. I'm gonna go to my room and take a nap before dinner. Pizza okay?"

"Yeah, that's great. See ya." He waited until his dad had gotten mostly down the hall before turning to his baking partner, an eyebrow trying to make friends with his hairline.

Noah wore an innocent expression. "You were right. That stuff is good." He grabbed the bowl and traced his finger along the edge, sliding it into his mouth in a way that was definitely not supposed to be provocative. Not at all. And it wasn't. Definitely. For sure. Kurt almost believed himself for a minute, even. "What? You look like I just sat on your puppy."

"Nothing. Nothing at all." _Smooth_, he thought to himself. "Well, these are going to take a little while. Wanna go chill in the living room? Q's studying downstairs."

"Yeah. Sounds good. I'm bringing this with me, by the way," he said, indicating the bowl. Kurt nodded, walking to the living room stiffly. Apparently, he had some sort of concussion that the doctor hadn't picked up on. Because, really, he didn't blush because his dad walked in on him with _Noah Puckerman_, of all people, who most definitely did _not_ lick chocolate off of his hand, or at least not consciously. Shaking his head, he plopped down on the sofa, staring straight ahead as if he was in a daze, which he probably was. Noah sat next to him, sucking uncooked brownie off his index finger.

"I'm sorry about today, you know," Kurt said numbly, nails digging into his palm.

"It wasn't _that_ bad. I think my little sister's beat me up worse than those shitheads."

"Little sisters usually don't break ribs or give people concussions."

A brief moment of silence followed. "You're a dirty faker. God, if you were a girl, I'd never sleep with you purely because of that comment." It took him half a second to get what he meant, considering that the only girl he talked to regularly that had had sex had only done so once.

"You mean you don't sleep with girls who fake orgasms?"

"Not unless I'm desperate. I can always _tell_. It sorta makes you feel like shit, you know, that they can't even be honest with you while you're having sex." Kurt nodded as if he understood, but really, he hated hearing about girls having sex, even—or was it especially?—from him, if only because of the sheer volume, of course. "Look, this is going to sound sort of sketchy, but can I ask your advice about something?"

"_No_, I will not help you get into Tina's pants. Or Mercedes'. Or Quinn's. Or, for the love of god, Rachel's."

"No, no, it's got nothing to do with me. I just...I have this friend, you know, one of my good friends, though he sort of doesn't like me a whole lot right now, like most of the school, and I thought if I helped him with something he was asking me about before the baby thing, maybe he'd forgive me. If that makes any sense." He sighed deeply, as if the last thing he wanted to be doing was telling Kurt about it. "So, my friend, he's, well, he's a _closet case_. And it's sort of tearing him apart." Kurt's eyebrow rose. Noah had a gay friend? That was certainly an interesting development.

"Well, lying to everyone you know and love does that to a person. The only solution is to tell people and hope they get over it."

"It's not quite that easy. He's not _gay_ gay. Like, he's not girly. And he only really likes this one guy, who he _insisted_ on telling me _all_ about until I basically wanted to shove him in front of a bus. Or Sue Sylvester."

"That's a little harsh."

"I know, but he's really annoying about it. Or he was. Anyways, he kept asking me if he should tell the guy, or whatever. Like, he's says it's only this one guy, but he's worried he won't just get over the whole gay thing. He thinks he should just tell the guy and get it out of his system. Is that a good idea?"

"Considering that my entire experience with men is theoretical and completely in my head, I'm not going to claim to be an expert on this. But, well, how long has he liked the guy?"

Noah made a face. "Four years, give or take."

"Okay. Wow. That's..._intense_. Is the other guy gay?"

Noah paused at that. "He thinks he might be interested in that sort of thing."

"Then by all means, tell him to tell him."

"Well, it's a little more complex than that. I mean, his family's not really into the whole homo deal, and people have certain expectations of him, since he's on the football team, and he's got some girl issues."

"I stand by what I said. There comes a time in your life when you have to look him in the eye and tell him to suck it up. Although, I'm rather curious as to who these people are. If what you're saying is true, I'm not the only gay in Lima."

"Well, there's at least one other queer in this dump." Kurt's mind went back over everything he said. He had a select pool of candidates for who could possibly be the second gay kid. He still needed to narrow it down.

"I need to meet this friend. Unless I already know him?"

Noah chewed over that. "Yeah. Well, _obviously_, since he goes to our school and all, but I'm not telling you more than that. And, I mean, I have to rebuild some bridges with this guy before I give him your advice or anything, so it could be months before anything happens. It probably will be. After all, just because a guy is gay doesn't mean he's into every guy he sees, so the guy could be gay and just not like him." Kurt grinned.

"Aw. You've learned much, my grasshopper. A few weeks ago, and I bet you never would've seen yourself saying those words." Kurt dipped a finger into the scarce remains of the brownie batter and licked it off his finger. Noah gave him a weird look.

"Yeah. I guess not." The timer on the stove went off and Kurt hopped to his feet to check on the brownies. There was a lot on his mind from that last conversation. Noah's words could be taken several ways. For instance, if this friend was actually gay and he knew it, and his crush was definitely gay, then that would mean that the friend possibly liked _him_. Sure, it was a stretch, a stretch that (a part of him hoped) pointed straight at Finn (who, sure, didn't know him four years ago, but whatever), but it was a nice thought. He imagined Finn confiding his deep and abiding love for him to a fairly resistant Noah while he pulled the brownies from the oven. The image was quite entertaining. Noah would really hate it. He'd run away, muttering homophobic nonsense in that strangely endearing way of his...not that homophobia was at all endearing, but Noah had a way of making it amusing sometimes.

"Brownies are done!" he called, sliding a knife through to make rather large squares. "Now help me clean the kitchen while these cool." Noah made a little face but tore off a few paper towels and got to work. By the time everything looked basically as it had when they'd entered, the brownies had cooled enough to eat. Kurt stacked them all on a plate and went down to his room. Quinn accepted a brownie gratefully and gave Noah a weird look.

"You two look...awful. I'm just going to assume it's chocolate all over your faces."

"Don't worry, it is. Dinner's probably in an hour or so. Pizza," Kurt said, hopping back up the stairs with Noah in tow. "Study hard, Q-ticle!" He hopped back onto the couch in the living room, picking up the largest brownie and eyeing it like it was a brand new, never-before-seen bag from Prada.

"Jeez, Kurt. _Eat_ it, don't make love to it. What would your dad say if you got cum stains all over your couch?" Kurt choked, but was determined to form a normal response.

"I highly doubt that if brownies could have sex, they'd actually have cum."

"Oh, no, you'd be the bottom in that little freakfest." Kurt slapped him on the arm. "Just kidding, just kidding. By the way, kudos for using 'cum' in a sentence. I didn't think you had it in you." He smirked. "Well..."

"You're such a perv! Let me enjoy my brownie in peace, you gutter-dweller." He closed his eyes and took a large bite, savoring it. Hot chocolaty goodness...

"_Really_? What did I just say about the couch? Come on. I don't want to watch this." Kurt rolled his eyes and picked a chunk off of his brownie, shoving it in Noah's face.

"Eat. The. Damn. Brownie." Noah opened his mouth and accepted the chocolate morsel, nipping Kurt's fingers in the process (totally on purpose). His eyes went wide.

"Ohmygod. I just came in my pants."

"Really? You're not going to stop with the orgasm references? Can we _not_ be done with that now?" He raised an eyebrow and gave him an _are-you-a-fucking-idiot?_ look.

"These are too good. You know that. Don't hate." He grabbed a whole one and shoved his face into it. "And don't get a feeding-me-stuff fetish. That's not how I roll." Kurt snorted and enjoyed his little piece of heaven.

* * *

By the time Noah finally left (sometime after dinner), Kurt was exhausted. It had been a _very_ long day. He collapsed on his bed, thankful that Quinn seemed to have given up on homework for sleep. His mind was buzzing. A weird part of him was almost _turned on_ by the past few hours. He clearly had injured his head. Because, yeah, Noah had 'the guns', and, yeah, he could be charming even though he was an asshole, and, yeah, the mohawk had grown on him, but it was all wrong. He simply was not allowed to think Noah was hot. Even though he totally looked like he'd walked straight from the pages of his secret muscle magazines (_may all the Broadway gods and goddesses bless April Rhodes a million times over_), it just wasn't alright. He could still feel his tongue on his fingers. That wasn't simply a friendly thing, was it? He'd never had a male friend before, so maybe that was how they acted. Maybe they licked chocolate from each others' fingers. And maybe he needed more male friends, if that was the case. Because it was nice. Really nice. And totally bullshit.

Obviously, he wasn't the only person in the room, so he didn't think too hard about how _nice_ it was. There was no point in getting himself frustrated. Besides, he didn't necessarily even like Noah. Not like that, anyway. It would be stupid to like him, after all, since he was straight as a board. Or a ruler. Or some other straight thing. There was, however, the idea that most straight things could bend...But it wasn't like Noah Puckerman was about to go gay for him. That was a completely ridiculous idea. Of course, if anyone went gay for anyone, it would be for him, since everyone had this crazy idea that he was little more than a girl without boobs. Still, he couldn't help but imagine for a moment what it would be like to have his first kiss with Noah. He probably be pretty good, all things considered, for a first kiss. He pressed his lips to his fingers and imagined a number of surprisingly beautiful things.

* * *

He awoke tired. Kurt felt like his mind had been running in circles all night. And his head was a little sore, along with most of his body. Groaning softly, he dragged himself from his bed and into the shower. Once the water had cleared his mind a little, he took a brief moment to laugh at himself. The night before, he'd actually been thinking of Noah. _Romantically_. Or whatever. The idea was laughable. Pretty hilarious actually. He'd have to tell Quinn; she'd have a nice laugh at that. He almost considered telling Noah himself, but thought he might make the wrong assumptions.

After covering up any remaining bruises, he ate breakfast with his dad, munching on cocoa puffs. "Look, I know it's not really my business, but I gotta ask: do you like Noah? Like, _like_ him?" his dad asked, stabbing soggy cornflakes with his spoon.

"No."

"Okay, it's just he's been spent a lot of time here, and in the kitchen yesterday..." Crap. His dad _had_ seen that.

"It's nothing. I don't like him like that, and, obviously, he doesn't like me. We're just friends. Just because I like guys doesn't mean I can't just be friends with them." His dad nodded.

"Ok_ay_. Just making sure. I won't ask you about it again."

"Thanks." He swallowed his last bite and headed back downstairs. Quinn had woken up (sort of) and was laying out her clothes for the day on her bed. Kurt finished getting dressed.

"So, you over Finn, then?" Quinn asked, tugging a shirt over her head. He turned around to look at her.

"I don't know. Why?"

"Well, you sorta had Puck over to make baked goods. And you two were talking over dinner. Actually _talking_. Like normal people."

"So? That doesn't have anything to do with Finn. Noah and I have become friends. We've bonded. Dumpster dives do that."

"You can't bond with someone who throws you in garbage. That doesn't make sense. Please tell me your beauty products haven't finally gone to your head."

"He hasn't thrown me in for a while. Actually, yesterday, he sort of got stupid and ended up in the dumpster with me. So, yeah, trash bonds people. You should try it sometime." Something about it sounded weak to his ears. And now that he thought of it, it didn't all make sense. Surely Noah was smarter than telling them that they were a bunch of pussies. He of all people had to know how fragile their egos were.

"Right. You have fun with that. I'll make friends the normal way: at school and on facebook." Kurt rolled his eyes and was about to head to school when something struck him. He turned back to her.

"Hey, are you doing alright? Do you need to talk to someone or something like that?"

"What? No, no, I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

"Are you sure? I don't mean to pry, it's just that sometimes, you seem like you're just barely hanging on. If you need someone, I'm right here...or, if you'd rather, I could find someone else...?" She stared at him for a long while. He shifted nervously under her gaze.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing towards the other end of her bed. "I...I haven't told anyone. I don't really know how. It's just a lot to handle right now. I thought it would get better, but it hasn't, really. I keep thinking about it."

"About what?" he asked gently, placing a hand over hers. He tried to keep his voice low, like one might use on a frightened animal.

"The baby. _My_ baby. There was something wrong, I guess. I hadn't gone for an ultrasound since the first trimester because I couldn't afford it. They think there was some complication or something." She shook her head. "I don't know what the fuck it was. All I know is that my baby, my daughter, is dead." Kurt gasped. Her face was a stone mask, like she was trying to hide herself from emotion.

"Oh my....I...don't know what to say. But...why? Why didn't you tell Noah, or me, or my dad? You should be in counseling or something. You shouldn't be trying to deal with this on your own." As she stared at him, the surface tension holding the tears in her eyes broke and with it, her composure. He pulled her into his arms as she sobbed, good and loud, until every tear had left her body. Then she simply lay with her head in his lap as he stroked her hair until at long last, she spoke.

"I didn't want him to feel like this. I don't want _anyone_ to feel like this." He let her lay there in his lap until she was ready to get up and go to school, trying his best not to feel her pain. He failed.

* * *

At lunch, Mercedes cornered him in the Glee room. "Hey, white boy. Haven't seen you much lately. You done being a loner?" With her hands on her hips and a no-nonsense expression, he was helpless to deny it.

"I know. I've been a little antisocial as of lat. Although, really, you should be glad because if I saw you wearing those horrible leggings before today, I would've disowned you. But I'll give you an opportunity to wear them the rest of the day, so long as you burn them as soon as you get home. They make it look like you ran over a hippie and stole his least favorite shirt. Not even starving orphans laboring in sweatshops in third world countries deserve to wear those." She rolled her eyes.

"Good to know you're still Kurt." He smiled.

"Yes. My bitchiness knows no bounds."

"Thank god."

He laughed. "So, I feel sort of behind. What's the latest gossip, my diva?"

"Well, apparently Brittany and Santana have made it official. Rachel won't put out for Finn, but the dork is still dating her. Artie and Tina went on a date, but they still don't want to become an item. Oh, and Tina, Artie, Santana and Rachel have decided that you and Puck are trying to hide your burning love for each other by not talking to anyone and skipping school together. Care to explain?"

"We're not...like that. I swear. I have absolutely no interest in him whatsoever. He's just sort of decided to stop being an asshole. And because of me, he got beat up by Karofsky and his boys. All around good times, really."

"Well, that's not exactly great, but at least I don't have to get Tina and Rachel and go beat up Mohawk. I trust him about as far as Finn's gotten with Rachel." He grimaced. "Oh, wait, you don't like him anymore, do you? I mean, I stopped getting all those 'omg! He looked at me!' texts, so I figured you were mostly over him." He shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. I'm not sure. I love the _idea_ of Finn. I love how dependable he is, and how nice he is, and sweet and innocent, but I don't think he's actually what I want in a boyfriend. He's pretty dumb sometimes. He never figured out that I was in love with him, so he must be a little bit of an idiot. I wasn't exactly subtle."

"Very true. Half the time I wanted to slap him for not noticing. The other half, I wanted to slap _you_ for being so ridiculous."

"Thanks. _Really_."

"You know I love you," she said, and he grinned. He missed having a girl friend. One who wasn't moody and formerly pregnant. And a little emo, but who was he to judge? She'd been through a lot. Still, it felt nice.

* * *

He really wasn't sure why he was going to her. After all, he _hated_ that annoying, repulsive, lovely-voiced spaz. But if anyone one could help him, it would be her. She may have been the worst secret-keeper in the history of the entire world, but she had her uses. Like singing. And information-gathering.

"Listen, Idina. I need to talk to you," he said, pulling her into an empty classroom before Glee. She beamed at the moniker in her slightly infuriating, yet weirdly naive way.

"I'm all ears. I've been told I give great advice."

"Yeah, whatever. I just need a movie. I told Noah I'd let him come over to watch a modern movie, but I don't really watch any. Do you know of one that's somewhat tolerable that he might like? Nothing too gory, though. I figured you might have alright taste, considering your penchant for musical theater." She looked at him in a manner that could definitely be called suspicious, then smiled.

"A chick flick, or what? I know of several great romantic comedies."

"No, no, nothing like that. Something he won't want to kill me for making him watch. It'll probably have to have some sort of action."

"Fine. Let me think." She switched between looking thoughtful and staring at him intently for nearly a minute. "Well, there's this movie I watched with my two gay dads. It's got some violence, some romance, a murder mystery, and it's really funny. It's called Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. You might like it. I mean, there's some boobs, but that'll keep Noah interested. And there might be a little something for you," she said knowingly.

"Like what?"

"Robert Downey Jr., Val Kilmer... Actually, there's a character named 'Gay Perry'. And he's not a total girl. He's actually a pretty manly guy. I know you're a little touchy about the girly-gay association. But you should both enjoy it."

"Sounds good."

"It is. I can let you borrow it."

"Thanks. That's...really nice of you."

She grinned and turned to flounce out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "Just let me know when you want to borrow Velvet Goldmine! Or Brokeback Mountain." She giggled her way down the hall, and he rolled his eyes. She was such a wannabe fag-hag. It wasn't entirely her fault, since hanging out with her dads must have made the idea seem normal, although she definitely needed a female role model. Well, or a fashion icon, so that she might be able to dress herself. The girl needed a makeover like Sarah Palin needed to learn how to say something, anything, that made sense (even though _she_ managed to dress herself moderately well, considering her career).

* * *

The next morning, he had the dvd in his shoulder bag, and texted Noah. The cute picture of him in his glasses brightened his day just a little bit, so he walked with a spring in his step, looking forward to the movie later that night (it was a Friday and therefore an awesome movie night). Noah gave him an okay for that night, and Kurt was suddenly struck with guilt. What if he had other plans for his Friday? What if he wanted to hang out with friends or whatever? After a brief moment of remorse, he shrugged it off. Too bad, he decided. It was Noah's own fault that he said yes. Later, he found Quinn in the halls and told her about the movie night, politely asking if she wanted to join them. She, of course, quickly refused and decided to pay a visit to Gwen, not wanting to be with Noah any longer than she had to. It was for the best, really. He felt uncomfortable about the two of them now that he knew that she was lying about the baby.

Throughout the day, the former jock kept texting him, asking him about the movie (though all he would say is that it was a surprise, something he'd never seen, from Rachel). He felt strangely normal about it. Usually, if he texted someone, it was Mercedes and little more than _yeah, I'll be in the caf for lunch_, but he found himself actually having a full conversation _during class_, even though he was a model student. Mercedes kept rolling her eyes at the sight of him with his head down, bent over his cell phone, and he definitely noticed the random, awkward stares Rachel was giving him in the three classes they had together.

The basic plan was for Noah to come over around seven, then they'd eat dinner while watching the movie. The only little hiccup was Kurt's dad, who would be weird about the whole thing. Kurt wasn't sure whether Noah was fine with his dad being there or not, and he wasn't sure how to tell his father that. His dad would read into it, maybe even say something, and things would get awkward. He texted his dad about it instead of going to the shop, thinking that it looked as normal as it was in type. His dad was fine with the plan, but was rather ambiguous as to whether or not he wanted to be there.

* * *

Kurt changed (remembering Noah's remark as to the "gayness" of his wardrobe) into a pair of somewhat-loose skinny jeans, a band t-shirt, a pinstripe vest, and his hi-tops. His hair received a little extra styling since it had suffered through a school day and was looking a little lifeless. Quinn gave him a look as she came down to drop her stuff off. As she went back to her car, he shook his head, knowing that she'd never really understand about the demands of his flawless appearance. After that, in all honesty, there wasn't much to do but wait, which he did very well, singing through the entirety of his Wicked shuffle and making a pasta dish for dinner.

Noah arrived with his guitar case, claiming that he wanted to work on one of the songs Schu was seriously considering for sectionals when the movie was over. Kurt served them up a couple of bowls of fettuccine alfredo, telling him to put the movie on. His dad, who'd gotten home while he was boiling the pasta, sat in his arm chair, apparently interested in the movie. They started it, both of the boys sitting on the couch, lounging with a respectable distance between them. It turned out that the movie was actually hilarious. Apparently, Rachel's dads had good taste. Sure, there was some female nudity (which was _ick_), but there was also some incredibly humorous moments that had the three of them rolling on the floor _and_ a clever story line. Any angst he felt towards Robert Downey Jr. for Iron Man was quickly forgotten when he saw his adorable puppy-dog eyes amplified in HD. Even his dad enjoyed it, though he seemed to think some of it was a little mature. All in all, point to Rachel.

"I don't think I've laughed that hard in my life," Noah said as they hopped downstairs. "_'Who taught you math?'_"

Kurt laughed. "You remind me of Harry a little bit. By that, I mean that you're an idiot."

"Well, _you_ remind me of Gay Perry. Because you're gay."

"Wow. That was stunningly original. No shit, Sherlock." He eyed the guitar. "So, you wanted to rehearse?"

"Yeah. And it was the best way to smuggle a bottle of tequila into your house."

"Which you won't be drinking."

"_Alone_."

"I'm not going to drink with anyone, least of all you. Last time..." He shut his eyes at the memory, whispering, "I threw up on a pair of Steve Madden pumps. I'll never forgive myself."

"You're such a nerd. A _fashion_ nerd. Freak." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Get out your guitar. We're rehearsing. Now. That's what you get for bringing booze." They spent a good hour working on the song, a mash-up of "Kids" by MGMT and "Good Girl Gone Bad" by Rihanna. Kurt was nit-picky as always, and though he couldn't find much wrong with Noah's voice, he had a surprising number of issues with his own. After they were about ready to murder the song, they started singing whatever came to them. Kurt dug out his old piano keyboard and they sang until almost midnight. When they finally stopped, their throats were sore and their heads spinning form oxygen deprivation.

Kurt collapsed on his bed, exhausted. "Too much singing. Tired. Meh..." Noah sat down with the bottle in his fist.

"Yup. Perfect time to bust out the Cuervo."

"I told you, I'm not drinking, you pig." The little insult came out effortlessly, but he didn't mean it. A part of him wanted to give in and drink his exhaustion away; he remembered what it was like for the brief week when he allowed himself an escape into alcohol. It was a great few days. Well, so he thought. He didn't remember a whole lot of it (minus a really terrible hangover and the shoe incident with Ms. Pilsbury), but he thought he remembered being happy and carefree for most of it. Still, drinking was equal to bad things.

"Fine. _I _am."

Kurt sighed. "That depends. Are you planning on spending the night?"

"Oh, I...dunno. Can I?"

"Lemme check." He went upstairs and found his dad in front of the tv with a beer, still awake. "Hey, you're still up?"

"Yeah. Just not in the mood to sleep. Noah's still here, isn't he?"

"Oh. Yes. About that...can he sleep over tonight? It's late and dark outside and he's slept here before."

"Fine." Kurt started back towards his room. "Just don't have sex." He rolled his eyes and hopped down to the basement. Noah leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and swirled the liquid around the bottle. He perked up when he saw Kurt, grinning brightly.

"I can stay, right? And drink?"

"Yeah. So long as you don't throw up or anything. I'm not going to deal with that again."

"You mean I have to hold back my own mohawk if I puke in your toilet? I thought you cared," he said sarcastically, taking a sip from his bottle. Kurt made a face.

"Ha ha. You're lucky I didn't shave it off last time you slept here."

"You think you actually bring yourself to shave off something this sexy? That's like trying to rip out my nipple ring - it's, like, sacrilegious." Kurt's mouth opened in what could almost be called a gape. That was what happened when one was told the about the existence of the Eighth Wonder of the World.

"You have a _nipple ring_?"

"Hot, right? You can't deny my studliness now." Kurt rolled his eyes, but a large part of him agreed. He'd never really considered the idea of a nipple ring, but now that he thought of it...it was definitely a good idea. Whoever first came up with the whole concept was an absolute genius, and maybe a little weird.

"Don't you want to go to bed? I'm tired," he sighed, trying to change the subject.

"It's only midnight. We've got a few hours until the sunrise. In the meantime, wanna make out?" Kurt choked.

"Wow. Good one. Ask the gay kid if he wants to make out with you. Make him look like a tard if he says yes. _Classy_… I'm not falling for that one." Noah shrugged, smirking a little.

"Thought I'd try. It worked on Rachel Berry."

"Yeah, but you actually wanted to make out with her. No accounting for taste. Besides, you forgot one little thing: I'd never, even if you were actually into that sort of thing, make out with you. _Ever_. I may not be actively plotting your demise, but that doesn't mean I suddenly have the hots for you. In case you were wondering."

"Well, you cleared _that_ up. I didn't know I wasn't allowed to joke with you. Duly noted." His tone sounded offended, so Kurt felt a little bad.

"Sorry. I'm just grumpy when I'm tired."

"I'll say, Mr. Grumpy-Pants. Actually, those are pretty nice pants. I like them. You should wear those more often. I mean, your other pants are alright, but you always wear them with girly tops or whatever, so you can't really see them, you know?" he babbled, then took a gulp or two from his Cuervo. "Fuck, I don't know what I'm saying." Kurt smiled a little to himself.

"Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment." Noah smacked him playfully. "Oh, hey, how's your friend? The gay one?"

"Oh, him? He's alright. Still doesn't really want to talk to me, but he said earlier this week that he overheard the guy he likes say that he sort of doesn't like him at all. He's a little depressed about that, I guess."

"Do you know who he said that to? Actually, screw that, it doesn't matter. You know as well as I do that sometimes people say things to other people that they don't really mean. Maybe he isn't sure about how he feels about your friend. Or maybe he likes your friend but he's to afraid to admit it. I don't know. People are weird. I don't need to tell you that."

"So, you think he likes him?"

"You sound like a prepubescent girl. But he might. It'd be hard to tell without talking to him yourself."

"Oh, right." Noah sat up and leaned over Kurt, putting his tequila on the floor next to the bed. Kurt groaned.

"Really? Is that entirely necessary? _Must_ you get all up in my grill?" Noah hovered over him, grinning.

"Your _grill_? When'd you get all gangster?"

"When you invaded my personal space. Now, _off._"

"I think you're just upset because I'm all hot and manly and beautiful and you can't touch me."

"That's definitely it. Not that you smell like Axe and nasty jock, or that I don't like people to touch me because it'll wrinkle my clothes. No, it's obviously because you're too much of a stud for me to be able to resist. Go play in traffic." Noah laughed and rolled off him.

"I actually feel sort of bad for not being gay, you know? I feel like I'm sort of doing a disservice to homos by not being willing to do them. I mean, yeah, I'm sexy and amazing, but also, like, I don't have a gag reflex. Imagine how many awesome blowjobs I'll never give. That's a lot of guys out there who could have been that much happier." He looked around suspiciously. "Don't tell anyone this, but, I know what a _prostate_ is. I could _use_ that knowledge, if I were gay. Think of all the people I'll never sleep with now. Women never forget the night I spend with them. They _always_ remember how awesome I am in bed. Shouldn't that be shared with everybody, not just the ladies?" Kurt laughed.

"Dear god. Go to sleep. You obviously drank too much. I can't believe you think you're god's gift to men, too, now. Just...sleep." Noah made a little noise of protest that was almost cute. Kurt pushed him so that they were laying on the bed like normal people and turned of his lights remotely. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep.


	6. Chapter 6: Shiver

**Limes...If you wish to avoid the (minimal) sexual contact, just skip down to "Kurt crawled back into bed...". It's the paragraph before the first line. What happened will be referenced in a fairly PG-13 way, so if that bothers you, I'm sorry.**

_

* * *

"There may not_  
_Be another way to your heart_  
_So I guess I'd better find a new way in_  
_I shiver when I hear your name_  
_Think about you but it's not the same_  
_I won't be satisfied 'till I'm under your skin"_

"Shiver" by Maroon 5_  
_

* * *

At first, he thought that he woke up because it was morning, a decent time to be awake, but his internal body clock quickly corrected that idea. It _had_ to be a weird hour of the morning. That was when he realized that not only was there a heavy arm around his waist, but that the warm body at his side was...for lack of a better word, _humping_ him. Kurt immediately assumed that he was dreaming or in some way mistaken. No such luck. Yeah, Noah was shoving himself against his hip. And...oh god, _that_ would be a boner. His pulse quickened. What was a person supposed to do in a situation like that? He knew quite well that Noah slept like a rock. There was no way to wake him up without making himself unable to sleep. There was a soft, low groan in his ear, and Kurt felt his face heating up. How was one supposed to think straight when a fairly attractive boy with an obvious hard on was humping him?

He made a decision that was less than superb when he looked back on it: he tried to push Noah off. Of course, this involved turning over onto his side to face him, which was where the trouble arose. Because now he was sort of thrusting against his crotch, which, considering that he had already been halfway down the road to hard, was just plain awkward. He tried, he really tried, to push Noah away, but the other boy was bigger and stronger and had worked a hand onto his ass, so he was in a fairly helpless position. That's exactly what he would say if asked. But, at the moment, he was trying not make any noises that could either rouse him or that sounded too girly. Because,_ hot_ _damn_, was a real person better than his hand, even if they _were_ both still fully clothed. He'd never been touched or felt as wanted as he was then. Sure, Noah was probably having a really great dream about some woman who had kids their age, but for the moment, he was his, wholly his.

Noah pulled him closer and he let out a soft gasp, his back arching. A second later, the larger boy moved him, pushed him, so that he was on top, sliding a thigh against his groin. Kurt let out a little whimper and eased his hands into the back pockets of Noah's jeans. Dear _god_, did he have a nice ass... Their cheeks were pressed together, and he could feel soft breathing and shallow grunting fluttering against his ear. His hips instinctively thrust upwards, grinding their denim-clad erections together. He really needed to institute a no-sleeping-in-jeans rule, but it was a little late for that. The jock's hand edged between them. His palm ground against the bulge in his pants, drawing out a breathy moan. Kurt bit his lip; he was getting close, and that was a mixed blessing. But Noah's volume increased, he rutted against him faster, and Kurt felt teeth on his earlobe.

His control was slipping. Any thoughts of not coming in his pants disappeared when Noah let out a sharp grunt and gave a final thrust. Because _Noah Puckerman_ just came in his pants, _on his bed_, because of him. The hand on his erection pressed against him a little harder and he arched up into the touch, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. When the white spots behind his eyelids faded, he realized that Noah was sort of sleeping on top of him. His full weight was spread across his body and was, understandably, rather uncomfortable. A little bit of effort resulted in their separation, but Kurt was afraid to go back to sleep immediately, as he would like to. After all, there was a horribly sticky mess in his pants, and not only would it be awkward to wake up like that next to a boy in the same condition, but he really liked that particular pair of jeans (if only a little bit because Noah liked them) and didn't want a stain. He inched off the bed and undressed. After giving his crotch area a wipe and shoving the underpants into the bottom of his dirty laundry, he put on a fresh pair and his jeans again.

Kurt crawled back into bed beside Noah, who was breathing lightly. He watched his face, the soft planes of his cheeks, his temples, his long chin. He really was beautiful, in his own way. It made the moment all the more painful. That moment, that single lovely moment, would pass in only a few minutes, and then Noah would be Noah and Kurt would be Kurt and they would never be anything more than two separate people. Because Noah was straight, despite participating despicably wonderful activities in his sleep. It would never be. He breathed a long sigh and pressed himself against the other boy, who adjusted to sort of curve his body around him. Every last bit of energy he possessed went into memorizing the moment so that he could always have a memory in which he was loved and not alone.

* * *

Morning greeted him a little sooner than he would have liked. Apparently, Noah had realized some of what had happened the night before because he was making a pretty pathetic attempt at exiting the bed without waking him.

"You woke me up, you jerk," he muttered, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Didn't mean to. Just gotta use the bathroom. Really have to go." He hopped over him quickly and darted to the bathroom. Kurt chuckled to himself. _That's_ what happened when you humped your rather willing friend in your sleep... A couple of minutes later, Noah came back in, looking a little flustered.

"Everything alright?" Kurt asked, trying his best not to grin. A petty part of him was enjoying the moment immensely.

"Yeah. Of course. Look, I should probably go home soon. My mom will probably want me to do some chores or babysit my sister or something. So I should go."

Kurt got out of bed. "You don't want breakfast? I make a mean waffle." He tried to look confused and a little hurt. It worked. Noah ran a hand through his mohawk guiltily.

"Well, I guess I could stay for breakfast." Kurt grinned.

"Come on, then. You'll help me." He started up the stairs. "I know you like cracking eggs. Actually, I'll have to check, but we might have sausage or bacon or something."

"Cool." After that, neither of them said much until Kurt's dad came in. He looked at them almost cautiously for a moment.

"Hey, guys. Breakfast smells good. Waffles?" Kurt nodded. "Great. You slept okay?"

"Yeah," Noah answered quickly. "Did you?"

"Yes. Thanks for asking." He gave them a mock-stern look. "You two didn't have sex, did you?" he asked mockingly. Kurt blushed at the idea that his dad had the nerve to say something like that. He noticed that Noah looked entirely unaffected.

"Oh, yeah. Everywhere. All over Kurt's room some parts of the living room. Went through two whole boxes of condoms," he said easily. "I am proud to say that your boy's a man now." Kurt choked, but his dad laughed and opened the fridge to get out some juice. It really wasn't fair that Noah could get away with saying things like that.

"I need to keep you around. You're funny." Noah looked back over his shoulder and smiled, then turned back to the bacon. Kurt noticed that his hands were shaking and felt better.

"Glad to be of service, Mr. Hummel. The bacon's almost ready, by the way."

"Great. I'll get out plates." As Kurt pressed a few waffles, his dad set the table. For a moment, it felt entirely normal. It felt like Noah belonged there with them. He pushed the thought away as quickly as he could. That was the kind of thinking that only led to unhappiness and ruined friendships. He allowed himself to relax into the situation, though. They ate slowly, talking and laughing. It wasn't until they were all splitting the last waffle that Kurt felt in any way uncomfortable by the arrangement.

"Oh, hey, Kurt, what's that on your ear?" his dad asked, leaning forward to look closer.

"What? I don't know," he answered self-consciously. Noah, who was on his other side, put a hand on his chin and turned his head so he could see. He reached out and touched his ear.

He said, "I think he just slept on it funny," but his eyes clearly read _we need to talk_. Kurt shivered almost imperceptibly. Noah let go of him and he turned back to his dad, shrugging. His father had one eyebrow raised just slightly, but enough to be cause for concern. The subject was changed, but he could feel Noah's eyes on him. After the dishes had been put away, Kurt was nearly dragged back down to his bedroom.

"Hey! Easy on the goods!" Noah snarled and pushed him against the wall.

"You got into a fight with someone, didn't you? Tell me. Who. Now. You should have told me that someone beat you up again." Kurt was mildly afraid. If it were at all possible in any capacity, then the pair of hazel eyes locked on his face were on fire.

"I-I don't know. There was no fight. It wasn't that. It's probably just a mark from a crease in my pillow or something."

"No one's buying that. Out with it. What happened?"

"Someone...ah, bit me."

"Why would somebody be biting your-" Realization flooded his face. "Oh. You-you have a boyfriend. I...okay. Alright. You didn't tell me. Okay..." He took a couple steps back.

"It's not _quite_ what you think."

"No, whatever, man. I mean, it's a little weird to think of you having a boyfriend, but whatever. That's cool. I'm not going to stand in the way of you getting some." He looked around and his eyes settled on his stuff. "I'm going to go home. I'll see you Monday, or whatever." He left before Kurt was able to move. He slumped down the wall as if Noah had just released him, his breath coming in short gasps. That was..._intense_. Something about the way he had seemed ready to kill one moment and then suddenly entirely free of any emotional investment just made him uneasy. But what could he say? It wasn't like he could tell him that the bite mark was _his_. That would have been downright awkward.

He found his phone a moment later, lingering on the frankly adorable picture, and typed him a text. _No boyfriend, just so you know. Someone just bit me on accident. They thought I was someone else. That was all it was. In case you were wondering. _He read back over it and deleted it, cursing to himself. It's not like the statement would make any sense to anyone other than him. There was a whole lot he wanted to say like _oh, yeah, so we kinda maybe did something that may or may not be considered sex last night, only you don't remember because you were asleep. So, yeah, I kinda took advantage of you, and might like you a whole lot more than I ever thought I would... _That just wouldn't go over well. It was pretty fucking stupid, anyway, that he liked him in the first place. Well, sort of.

"Ugh," he whined, standing. "I need some sort of spa treatment." He found Mercedes' number and sent her a short text, asking her to meet him at their usual spa/salon combo. She agreed immediately, probably sensing that something was up. He changed into fresh clothes, let his dad know where he was going and headed to his car, blasting Cobra Starship's "Hollaback Boy" and Spring Awakening's "Totally Fucked". When he stepped out of the car, Mercedes was waiting outside the salon, arms crossed over her chest, smiling.

"It's about time you and me had some girl time. Come on, let's get you prettied up." He nodded with purpose and went in. The woman at the front counter smiled at him.

"What can I help you two with today?" she asked. She twisted her pen in one hand.

"'The Works'. For both of us." Her grin grew a little bit. Mercedes arched an eyebrow.

"Then follow me." She led them through a few doors and hallways to a room with several large sinks. "A salon attendant will be with you shortly," she said, and left. Mercedes looked at him hard.

"_'The Works'_? You've never needed that much spa therapy. What's up, babe?" She looked genuinely concerned, and he faltered.

"Let me at least get my hair conditioned and a facial. We'll talk over manicures." A few minutes later, he was immersed in the sounds of rushing water, warm and gentle on his scalp. The thick, soft sound allowed his mind to edge away from his body as practiced fingers massaged his scalp. _This_ was what he needed - a moment to escape. He dozed off, assuming full consciousness when it was time to move to another room for their mani's and pedi's. When they were both seated in large, massaging chairs with churning, foaming water at their feet, Mercedes gave him that look again.

"Come on. Tell me why you're having a little bit of a break down right now." He took a deep, deep breath and stared at her for a moment. He would have to tell her everything.

"I...I guess it started when Quinn had her baby. I was there. I drover her to the hospital. I waited while they cut the baby out of her. It...it was really scary, you know? She's been living with me, so I sort of feel like I'm her family, I guess. Anyway, my dad made me go home, and when I got home, I don't know, I just sort of snapped. I called Noah, I screamed at him for not being there. He showed up at my house a little while later, drunk as hell and looking like he tried to break down a wall with his fists. I patched him back together and he slept over on accident. After that, he started calling me by my first name. Then, well, he got himself thrown into a dumpster for me, and was beat up. He, uh, came home with me and sort of...I don't know. We made brownies, and he licked my hand. Not in a creepy way, in a sort of hot way, and he asked me for advice. After that, well, he slept over last night after we watched a movie..." Kurt stared at his knees.

"Something sort of happened last night," he continued. "He drank a bit. He started talking about how he'd be awesome if he were gay...after we fell asleep, he sort of started...we just...he was sleeping and I think he was- _I know _he was dreaming something sexy because he sort of thought I _was_ that thing...I guess we dry-humped each other. Until we, _you know_... So, I, obviously, didn't tell him about that this morning. At first he freaked out, then I convinced him to stay for breakfast, though he was still freaking out a bit. But I guess my dad saw this mark on my ear, then Noah thought it was from a fight, so then he freaked out _more_, but I tried to tell him it wasn't from that, so now he thinks I have a boyfriend and he kinda just left after that. I just don't really know what to do," he said, embarrassed he sounded too nervous or was rushing or something.

"Well. _That's_ a lot to process. Okay, so, you obviously seem to like him now. And, that whole thing last night was a bit weird, I mean, how did he not wake up?"

"Oh, he can sleep through _anything_. The first time he spent the night, he fell onto the floor, I yelled at him, I punched him...he didn't wake up."

"Okay, then, look at it logically: he must have been dreaming about being with a boy. It's not like he could be dreaming about sleeping with some Cheerio or something when there's, well, a _boy_ with _parts_ with him. You probably have a pretty good chance with him."

He closed his eyes and thought for a little while. "That would definitely explain why he had a total spaz attack. If he thought he got off on screwing around with a boy, he might freak out. It was probably because he was a little drunk and thinking about being gay. Bad combo."

"Obviously. Or he could be a little gay. You never know. He could be one of those overcompensating guys. Sleeping with just about everyone with girly bits so he can tell himself he's not gay."

"I don't know. Now that I know him, I can't really see it. I mean, he's come a long way towards being fine with me being gay, but there's a big difference between not throwing me in a dumpster and wanting to sleep with men."

"You could always just kiss him. _Then_ you'd know for sure." He laughed.

"Yeah. He'd never talk to me again. And there's a chance he might kill me. Great idea." He reached into his pocket (his finger nails were finished since he drew the line at polish) and pulled out his phone.

"I feel like I should fix it, like I should say something to him, but I don't know how to make it better. Ugh. What am I supposed to do?"

"Just say this: 'Hey, Puck, sorry you dreamed about sleeping with a guy because I let you dry-hump me while you were asleep. It's because I love you and I want to'-"

"_Hell_ no! I'm not insane, and I would love to be alive long enough to sleep with someone _conscious_."

"Don't we all?" She smiled at him. "Babe, just text him something. I know you want to. Just tell him _something_." He stared at the phone's screen, watching the light turn off, pressing a button to light it up, watching it die again. After a few minutes of this, he formulated a simple, if not wholly painful message. _No boyfriend, Noah. Just you. Last night. Just sort of happened. Sorry. _He sent it and turned off his phone, shoving it deep into his pocket. If he never turned on that phone again, he'd be happy. It dawned on him then that a person could say whatever they wanted to someone else and it wouldn't matter as long as they never had to see their reaction. And he never, _ever_, wanted to see Noah's reaction.

* * *

After some much-needed retail therapy, which turned out to be quite productive, Kurt returned to his house, finding Quinn in their room. When he got down the stairs, she gave him the evil eye, not even glancing at his many shopping bags and extraordinarily shiny hair or glowing complexion.

"Tequila? Really? Do we need to have a talk?" His eyes darted to where Noah had left the bottle the night before, but it wasn't there. "I saved your ass, mister, and put it in the closet so your dad wouldn't see it. I don't think he'd like the idea of you as a drunk."

"It's not mine, don't worry. I don't drink. Noah does."

"Well, don't let his bad habits rub off on you." It was then that she finally noticed his recent conquests. "Ooh. Are you going to show me?" He grinned.

"Just you wait. I'll give you a whole fashion show." He hopped to the closet to change. "You know, I really should be on America's Next Top Model. Or Project Runway. But I'm just too good for them..." Posing and practicing his Blue Steel, he modeled all of his most recently purchased items, to Quinn's delight.

"I hate you," she said lightly. "I wish I was skinny again so I could wear cute clothes." Beneath her carefree tone, he could see that there was something dark churning, deep in her eyes. But he took the cue from voice when formulating a response.

"One day, my Barbie Princess, you will be skinny again. Until then, you'll just have to look on with envy. I could probably wear _your_ clothes even." She smiled in a particularly evil way. "Not that we'll ever know for sure, since I'm definitely not cross-dressing for you..."

She smirked. "Oh? And who _will_ you cross-dress for? Your darling Noah?" He rolled his eyes.

"Not on your life. The whole idea of Noah and I will never happen." He remembered then to check his text messages, in case he'd gotten a reply to his rather terrible text from earlier. He hesitated before opening and reading it, but his curiosity forced him to. _I didn't think I was that drunk. What happened? _Kurt bit his lip. Quinn stared at him.

"What's up?"

"Not sure. Just have to sort something out with the lovely aforementioned Noah," he said nonchalantly. "What's the best way to phrase 'you tried to dry-hump me while you were asleep and I didn't stop you'?" Her eyes went wide.

"_What_ now?"

"That's basically what happened. I don't know how to tell him that. It's a long story." He looked back down at his phone. _Not much. You sort of attacked me a little bit in your sleep. I got you off, but not before you bit me on the ear. _He purposely left in the double entendre, knowing that it was the only way he could actually tell the truth.

"So, is he gay now?"

"I have no idea. I don't think so. I doubt he just up and quit liking women." He stared into space for a second. "Well, _you_ know him. Can you actually envision the idea of him liking guys? I really just can't." She shrugged, but he could tell she just didn't want to agree. He checked his phone. _Oh. Okay. Sorry for freaking out. I just got sort of pissed that you didn't tell me you had a boyfriend, you know, since we're friends. But...yeah. So, cool._ He reread it a couple times, finding that it was pretty awkward for a text message. He typed up a quick reply. _What?_ _You actually thought I met your friend, The Second Gay in Lima? Good one. _He put his phone up and hung all of his clothes, trying his best not to sleep. Quinn didn't say anything, thankfully. He wasn't sure he could deal with much at that moment. Lying didn't agree with him.

* * *

Monday was not an especially good day. He sort of felt like curling up in a ball and sleeping for the rest of his life. His dad actually misinterpreted that as illness and made him stay home for the day. He was somewhat fine with that. The day was spent lying on the couch, watching Kiss Kiss Bang Bang over and over until he fell asleep, wishing that he wouldn't dream. He was in that little endless cycle of misery in which his number one desire was to stop thinking about Noah, but everything he did was purposely done to make him think of the tall boy with the greatest pair of hazel eyes he'd ever seen. It was perpetual suffering, and he reveled in it. His biggest regret was that he didn't have any of the brownies they made together left over.

Burt Hummel came home at around five. Quinn was out studying with Brittany and Santana until later that night, so it was just them. His dad made him some soup, and sat and watched (forced) him eat it. He was fairly obviously concerned.

"Are you doing alright?" he asked, eyes glued to his face.

He sighed. "Yeah, dad. I'm feeling better." It was a complete lie, but whatever.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" It was then that Kurt realized that he did not have his dad fooled. Not about being sick, not about being okay, none of it.

"I may have screwed things up with Noah. It's a little weird right now. I didn't mean to do something, but it happened, and he got confused, and now things are just a little screwed up." His dad was nice enough to not ask about when the leap had been made between _hell to the no_ to _worried things are too broken to fix_. The problem was, things were only broken on his end, which made it that much worse.

"I know I'm not an expert on things like this, but shouldn't you _talk_ to him? I know he cares about you."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. Just not the way I'd like him to."

"One day, I think he will." Sighing, Kurt picked up his empty bowl and jammed it in the dishwasher. With all the enthusiasm of a comatose turtle, he picked up the living room. Just as he was leaving, he heard a knock on the front door.

"Dad? Can you get that?" he yelled, then heard the shower in his dad's room running. "Ugh, I look like someone who's never seen a mirror," he grumbled to himself. No one needed to see him like that. But there were more knocks, a little more urgent. He rolled his eyes and opened it. Noah stood on his porch, pacing.

"Ah! There you are. Okay, don't speak. Not for at least the next thirty seconds." Kurt arched an eyebrow. "So, this is awkward as all hell, but I'm just going to...okay, so you know that friend I had? The gay one?...yeah, not a friend. He and I sort of have this weird love/hate relationship because (and this is where it gets awkward_) _you know the whole thing about The Second Gay in Lima? Yeah...that would be _me_. Sort of. It's complicated, and I'm not going to get into it because that's just not something I want to talk about right now, but, yeah. I may or may not be in love with a man." Kurt stared at him for a second, then closed the door. After taking a very deep breath, he opened it again. Noah was still there.

"_Twilight Zone_ much?" He stared, willing his mind to start working again. "That's...really mature. I applaud you. You've made another joke at my expense. How creative. Inspiring even. God, Noah...I thought we went over this kind of thing: I really don't appreciate it when you make jokes like that. I'd hoped you'd understood." Kurt ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more. His insides were disheveled, slowly falling to shambles. He had no idea what he was messing with, considering that there was some sort of sadist on his doorstep.

Noah frowned and said hollowly, "It's not a joke."

"No? Is it even _possible_ for you to do anything other than make jokes about things that actually matter? You know, I think we should pretend this never happened. I'll see you at school tomorrow." He abruptly shut the door in Noah's face and stormed down to his room. Even his bed seemed angry at him, making him bounce uncomfortably when he tried to drown himself in it. Noah? Gay? _Hell no_. Noah liked girls. He always had. Besides, if he started liking guys, then it would just hurt that much more when he told him that, yeah, he liked guys, but that didn't mean he liked Kurt and he never would. Then it would be entirely his fault that Noah would never have feelings for him. He couldn't deal with that quite yet, so he simply thought about him thoroughly enjoying many varieties of woman, and lost himself in the pluperfect melancholy that ensued.

* * *

He was back at school Tuesday, but his wardrobe reflected his dark mood. Not only was he dressed entirely in black, but the only accessories he allowed himself were a scarf and a bowler hat. Even his jeans looked like they'd seen better days. Mercedes gave him a concerned look, but didn't say anything. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of Noah heading towards him in the hallways, but he knew enough escape routes that he didn't have to see him until lunch. When the jock actually managed to catch him in the cafeteria, he pulled away behind a crowd of band geeks before he could do more than say his name. Kurt edged himself into a corner, surrounded and protected by most of the Glee kids, who gave him weird looks. It didn't seem to have been necessary because Noah didn't look to be straying from the center of the room. Kurt gaped when he climbed onto the center table and whistled loudly.

"Hey! Everyone! McKinley!" he yelled, glancing at Kurt. "I've just got a brief announcement for all of you. As all of you know, I'm Puck. Most of you associate words like _player_, _asshole_, or _stud _with my name because, hey, I'm a sexy, badass example of a man. But I've got another word for you to associate with my name: gay. Because I'm gay. _Way_ gay. Because I'm hopelessly and entirely in love with a dude and I really just don't give a fuck about what all of you think of that. So suck on it!" He hopped down from the table. He couldn't have…but he _did. _In a very short speech he'd managed to publicly out himself. The entire idea was mad. Kurt's table all looked at him pointedly, but his face was pale and expressionless. The entire lunchroom was silent for what felt like an eternity. Then, from the football table, came a low chant. Kurt cringed when he realized what they were saying. _Fag fag fag fag fag_. Noah did a little bow and turned to the table. "Fuck yeah, I'm a fag. And I make it pretty damn hot."

Kurt stood abruptly and left the cafeteria, heading for the Glee room. He squeezed himself between the risers and the wall and sat, knees pulled to his chest. He wept. _What was Noah thinking?_ He was going to get himself killed, and there wasn't a thing Kurt could do to stop it. It was entirely his own fault. If he hadn't tried to make him understand that it was fine to be gay, he could still be in the closet. While it wasn't exactly pleasant, it beat being dead. He sobbed into his knees softly, knowing that his face must look terrible, and didn't care a bit.

The door opened and closed. "I thought I might find you here," said Rachel. Her footsteps made little scuffing noises as she approached. "He's looking for you, you know. You should talk to him. That was pretty huge what he did for you in there. I think you should at least thank him."

"_Thank_ him?" he asked bitterly, his voice thick and wet from crying. "Why would I thank him for doing what was possibly the most idiotic, poorly-thought-out thing anyone could ever possibly think up? They're going to at least maim him, if not kill him. Why would he do something so _stupid_?"

"Because he cares about you." Kurt stared at his hands. Noah was a fool. A prize-winning fool. Did he _really_ think that people would stop beating Kurt up if he outed himself? It was probably a lie anyway, just some attempt at being edgy and rebellious. He was _such_ an idiot. Still, Kurt couldn't help but worry about him. He needed Noah to be there, annoying as usual in his strangely endearing way, but ultimately caring. Kurt couldn't let anyone hurt him. All that mattered to him was that the fool was safe and happy. It was completely impossible He was only one smaller-than-average boy; what could he do to ensure any such thing? Nothing. He couldn't fight off the jerks who would hurt him, he couldn't make him smile the way the guy he was supposedly in like (_or whatever_) with could. Damn, it was probably Finn. It would be just like him to have a crush on his best friend. Actually, it wouldn't, but it had to be Finn, since there was no one else. _The jerk._

"Can you give me a moment or two alone?" he asked Rachel. She looked like she was about to protest, but chose the better option and left, giving him a weak smile. Kurt sighed and went over to the piano. One hand glided over the keys as he sat, but he wasn't in the mood to sing his feelings away, as he usually did. Nothing felt right.

* * *

Noah cornered him right after his last class period. "Are you mad at me or something?" he asked, edging Kurt into a corner near his locker.

"I just...you're more than a little bit of an idiot, you know that? You helped all of _no one_ at lunch today, and I bet Karofsky and Bartlett and Dennings and all of them are waiting for you by your car to beat the shit out of you. You did nothing good today." Any trace of pride or cockiness drained from the jock's face.

"I was only trying to show you-"

He let his anger bleed through his words as he yelled, "That you can pull off being gay? That people won't care when one of their beloved football players 'comes out'? You're not even actually homosexual!"

Noah closed in on him. "You think so? You _really_ think so? Then how do you explain the fact that the only time I can actually get a hard on is when I'm thinking about guys? Or that I almost didn't try out for football freshman year because I was afraid that someone might notice that sometimes, my favorite part of practice is the showers? Or that I haven't been able to get this one _perfect_ guy out of my head for as long as I've known him?" Hazel eyes searched his as if his next words were concealed within his irises. "I hate myself, you know, because I've been awful to so many people. I can't even look at myself in a mirror without wanting to break something."

"Why are you telling me this? It has nothing to do with me. I'm just another kid you used to throw in a dumpster."

He sighed. "It has _everything_ to do with you, Kurt. Everything." Kurt pulled away, weaving around him.

"Why? Because I helped you see that there're worse things than being gay? Don't blame this on me. I can't...I _already_ blame myself. Please don't make everything my fault. It's bad enough when I think so, but if you do too…" he left the sentence hanging. Noah grabbed his arm and spun him around to face him.

"That's not what I mean at all. It's _not_ your fault, I know that. I never said it was. I just...I don't know how to say what I need to say without screwing up everything I've worked for."

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "Try using words." Noah stared at him for a second, then his face drew into itself and he began pacing. Pieces of him came off in his hands as he scrabbled at his head.

Shakily, he began, "I love...I have loved...I am in love. Yes. I am _in_ love_._ With a person."

Kurt snorted. "When I said to use your words, I meant _in complete sentences_."

He shot him a glare. "Yeah. Well. Sometimes it's hard to do things when you're being snarky."

"Get on with it." Noah stared at him, something inside him boiling.

"Fine. Screw it," he blurted, "I love you." Kurt laughed. He flat out laughed. His books fell to the floor just before his shaking body. He laid on his back on the linoleum, silent, paralyzing cackles spilling from his open mouth. With his eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't see Noah and almost didn't wish to. Now _here_ was a joke that was actually funny.

When he'd slowed enough to form whole sentences, he choked out, "I'm so sorry! I wish it didn't take me this long to realize how _hilarious_ you are!" Noah gave a locker a hard kick, putting a dent in it.

"I'm not fucking _joking_! _Goddamnit_, Kurt. I've never been more serious in my life. For the first time in four years, I actually tell you how I really feel about you. What do you do? You _laugh_. I should have known." Kurt got to his feet shakily, putting a hand on Noah's shoulder for balance. His eyes searched his angry features.

"Do you really mean it?" he asked quietly, both excited and afraid of the answer. Somehow, he managed to keep himself contained.

"_No_. I've just been freaking out because I'm entirely _not_ in love with you." The sarcasm was transparent, but it only left Kurt more confused.

"But...it doesn't make any sense."

"If I was meant to make sense, I would have liked a girl. Instead, I fall for you. I guess that's just how fate works. Or karma or whatever that new age crap is."

"You always...I mean, I always said you were just trying to overcompensate or something like that, but I never believed it." He thought back for a second and realization dawned on him. "Wait, so you're saying that when you were talking about your friend who was really you, the guy he liked was really me? That's...curious." So...wait, _Noah_ loved _him_? Like, for real?

"I guess." Kurt smirked.

"So, Friday night, when you sort of jizzed in your pants, who were you dreaming of?" Noah choked and turned bright red.

"Wait, you knew about that? Shit...uh, yeah, that may have been you. I'm really sorry. I know that was in your bed and all, so you're probably pretty grossed out. You were just...right there, I guess...Fuck, I'm sorry."

Kurt smirked. "My bad. It probably didn't help that _I_, well, _helped_. If you know what I mean." Noah's eyebrow shot up.

"You...?"

"_What_? Have a crush on you? Totally, embarrassingly came in my pants when you started grinding on me? Have been thinking of you nonstop for way longer than I'd like to admit?" He searched his eyes while speaking, self-consciously aware that he was becoming breathless. "Really, _really_ want to kiss you?" He looked down, saying quietly, "Or perhaps all of the above."

"So, _now_ can we make out?" Kurt looked up sharply, his eyes taking in a familiar smirk.

"We're _at school_. Glee practice starts in, like, ten minutes."

"So we'll be late. Or we can skip."

"Or not."

Noah checked his phone. "Well, _my clock_ says we have thirteen minutes until practice. It won't be my best work, _by far_, but I can definitely do a lot in thirteen minutes. A _lot_." Kurt snorted.

"What? You think I want a quickie before rehearsal? I may like you, but I'm not just going to put out in the middle of the hallway."

"I'm sure we could find a closet or something."

He laughed. "A _closet_? Now that's what I call irony. You'll just have to wait until later before any shenanigans."

"Right. Wait before _shenanigans_. Oh, you're cute." Kurt slapped him lightly.

"Shut up."

"Can I kiss you?"

Kurt smiled shyly. "I guess, I mean..." Noah shook his head and leaned down a little, tilting Kurt's chin up. He stared at the older boy's full lips. "I've never kissed anyone before," he admitted. The lips turned into a smile.

"Damn you, Kurt. Stop making me love you." He moved in and pressed their lips together softly. Kurt could tell that he was trying his best to be gentle and sweet, and the idea was strangely beautiful. Because of all things, Noah was tender, and that was something he never would have expected, not in a million years. As their lips moved together slowly, as if trying out a new choreography neither had quite figured out, Kurt felt a part of himself melt against him. They eased into the swing of each other, trying to learn the other's rhythm and soul, as if they could do so in the middle of the History hallway, pressed against some freshman's locker.

It was over much too quickly, but apparently Noah had a better sense of time because he was the one to realize that Glee rehearsal was in a minute or so. Kurt walked with him down the hall, their fingers just touching, and tried to burn that singular moment into his mind. His lips buzzed, anxious for another kiss. It was beautiful, he thought, how they were together, truly together, for the first time. Now, Noah was his, and he wasn't about to let go.


	7. Chapter 7: Something Inside

_"It's the first thing you see as you open your eyes_  
_The last thing you say as your saying goodbye_  
_Something inside you is crying and driving you on_  
_'Cause if you hadn't found me_  
_I would have found you"_

"Something Inside" by Jonathan Rhys Meyers_  
_

* * *

When they entered the Glee room, no one noticed anything was different at first. Schuester was trying to demonstrate some crazy, krump-like dance move, much to the delight of Miss Pilsbury and the rest of the students. They slipped to the back of the group, Noah's hand sliding up Kurt's back while no one paid any attention. As Mike and Santana tried to imitate Mr. Schu, Kurt dipped a hand in Noah's back pocket and leaned up to his ear.

He whispered, "Just so you know, in case no one's ever told you this, you've got a pretty god-like ass." Noah's only response was to gently bite the tip of his ear. "Tell me you don't have an ear-biting fetish. That's a real deal breaker." His eyes widened slightly.

"For real?"

"No, you idiot. I don't care if you're a necrophiliac...actually, strike that, I do. But as long as you don't have a violent or excrement-related fetish, I'm fine."

"I don't, you know. Have a fetish. I don't even remember biting your ear last time. So, we're good. Although I already know _you_ have a spa fetish. But I think we'll survive that one." Kurt grinned, about to reply with a snappy comeback when he was interrupted.

"Okay, guys!" Mr. Schu said. "That's enough freestyle for now. Let's get to work." They ran through all five of the pieces they were considering for sectionals. At first, it was rehearsal as usual - occasionally Brittany would forget the words to whatever she was singing, Finn would screw up his choreography, Mercedes and Rachel would start trying to sing louder than each other. But then Kurt started to notice that Noah was missing steps more than usual, and eventually someone else noticed as well.

"Holy mother of god, Puck, if you don't stop staring at Kurt's ass and learn your choreography, I'm going force Rachel to sing some screechy high note in your ear until the end of practice," Mercedes growled after a particularly spectacular misstep. "We've gone over the same sixteen counts at least a hundred times."

"Mercedes," Schu warned. Kurt gave Noah a suspicious look, earning a shrug and a smirk. Smiling, he shook his head.

"It's okay, Schu. I'll try to focus," the mohawked boy said.

"Great. From the top." As Noah went to his starting point, he gave Kurt a light smack on the behind, and several people gave them looks. After that, though, there were fewer mistakes. The group went on for another half hour before it was unanimously decided that they'd rehearsed so much, any more would result in an immediate slushie attack on Schu. Kurt saw Noah sidle up to his guitar.

"Hey, Schu, I've got a song we could sing. It's a little something I've been working on," he said, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. Schu looked a little tired himself, and seemed thankful that he wasn't really needed to participate.

"Um, sure! Have at it. I'm not about to stifle your creative drive."

"Cool." His fingers slid over the strings. "I'd like to dedicate this to a boy with a hot girly body I know just about everyone wants to eat chocolate mousse off of. But, ha, you _can't_. Not any more, losers."

Kurt gave him a look. "_Really_? You had to say that?" he asked exasperatedly, trying to hide his amusement. All he got was a smirk as Noah began strumming the strings lightly.

"_I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images, and when we kiss, they're perfectly aligned. And I have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes, like puzzle pieces, from the clay. True, it may seem like a stretch, but it's thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away and I am missing you to death. When you are out there on the road for several weeks it shows and when you scan the radio, I hope this song will guide you home._

"_They will see us waving from such great heights. 'Come down now,' they'll say. But everything looks perfect from far away. 'Come down now.' But we'll stay._

"_I tried my best to leave this all on your machine, but the persistent beat it sounded thin upon listening. That frankly will not fly. You will hear the shrillest highs and lowest lows with the windows down when this is guiding you home._

"_They will see us waving from such great heights. 'Come down now,' they'll say. But everything looks perfect from far away. 'Come down now.' But we'll stay._" Kurt was a little embarrassed when he felt a faint stinging in his eyes. Noah's voice was...gorgeous. Maybe it was just that he was singing a love song, or maybe it was that the love song was for _him_, but there was a flutter in his stomach that wasn't there before. He was going to move to Massachusetts and marry the boy. That was just a fact.

"_Wow_, Puck...that was really heartfelt. We could use that sort of feeling in our performance. I'm glad you took the initiative and worked on something on your own," Schu said, but Noah wasn't paying attention. His eyes were locked on Kurt, who really wished that all the other people in the room would simply disappear so that they could be alone.

He answered quickly, "Thanks. Are we done with rehearsal? I have some...stuff I have to do. Really important stuff." Schu smiled and waved his hand dismissively.

"Go. I'll need to talk to you later, but for now, _go_. All of you. Don't forget to practice." Faster than he thought possible, Noah was felt at Kurt's side, one arm snaking around his waist and pulling him close. Kurt smiled, in awe that not only was he actually allowed to touch him, but it was welcome, _wanted_. The thumb of the hand at his side stroked his ribcage, and he looked around to make sure no one was looking at them too weirdly. No such luck. The only person in the room who wasn't staring was Schu, and that was only because he'd rather comically face-palmed.

"Sorry," Kurt said to them, smirking and giving a little wink. "People to see, things to do. A _lot_ of things to do, actually." He threw a little wave over his shoulder and let Noah lead him away. They actually managed to make it to Kurt's car before jumping each other. Beneath the warm boulder of Noah's body, he scrabbled for the door handle, trying to get it open one-handed while an eager tongue pushed into his mouth. He was guided backwards onto the passenger seat, trying desperately to keep up with the frenzied pace of his lips.

"Can't you guys at least get behind closed doors before you have sex?" Santana asked snidely, obviously a little miffed about her friend-with-benefits being gay (or at the very least, bisexual), even though she'd obviously moved on. To a _girl_. The boys broke apart hurriedly, and Noah gave her the one-finger salute.

"Go finger Brittany," he retorted. The Cheerio flipped her ponytail and slid an arm through her girlfriend's. Brittany smiled at them happily, though.

"I just want you guys to know, I'm glad you finally found each other. I was wondering when you'd get things together." Kurt raised an eyebrow. How did she have any idea of what was going on between them? She must have been some sort of social idiot savant or something. He mentally shrugged it off when Noah slid a hand under his shirt, obviously wanting to get back to their earlier activities. Smiling a little, he glanced back towards the school's exit, and saw Rachel emerging with Mercedes, but for once, the less-annoying diva didn't look like she wanted to kill her competition. Rachel saw them and waved obnoxiously, then came running over. If looks could kill, the little mis-matched freak would be barely more than a scorch-mark on the asphalt.

Her grin was ridiculous. "I'm so glad that all my careful matchmaking worked out-"

"_Careful matchmaking_? What are you talking about?" Noah snapped. "Whatever. We're a little busy."

"You have me to partially thank for..._this_." She gestured between the two of them. "That movie definitely helped things along, like I knew it would. Anyway, Finn has agreed that we should do a double date. I was thinking Friday-"

"Hold on, Glinda. Let us figure our own stuff out first." Kurt was worried about what his...whatever would think of that. Technically, sure, they'd agreed that they liked each other and they'd kissed, but in the language of Noah Puckerman, that was like a friendly greeting or something. He really doubted, despite the fact that he'd sort of confessed his love to him, that they actually _were_ something. Not that he didn't want to be, he really did want him as a (_dare he think it?_) boyfriend, but that was something people talked about and agreed upon. Right?

"Actually," Noah said, pulling away from him a little as the gears turned in his head. "I think that sounds like a good idea. Maybe next Friday, though. I've gotta take my boy home to my mom before we go anywhere. And she'll want him there for the Shabbat, probably." Kurt looked at him hard. Was he really planning on introducing him to his mother? Luckily, Rachel didn't notice Kurt's confusion. She gave them a smile, and flounced over to Finn, her ride. Kurt edged out from the space between Noah and the seat, thinking.

"Your mom? The one who wants you to be a rabbi? And married to a _woman_?"

"Well, yeah. If I don't tell her about you, _someone_ will, and I'd rather it be me. Actually, it'd probably be better to do that sooner rather than later, before she hears about it from some asshole's mom."

"So you think that introducing me to her as your _whatever_ is going to fix that?"

"Boyfriend. Lover. Significant other. All of these are good terms. Not _whatever_. But yeah. It's not like she's going to get it if I just _say_ that I'm gay. She's going to have to see that it's because I actually love someone." Kurt shook his head. No matter how many times Noah said it, he wasn't sure he was ever going to believe that he, in any way, loved him. It was an impossibility. He could want him (maybe), he could like him, he could be confused about him, he could pity him, he could feel guilty about him, but he couldn't _love_ him. Not when there were a million other, more likely scenarios.

"I should go home."

Noah looked down. "So...wait, what are you saying?" Kurt sighed.

"Can we not talk about this right now?" He went over to the driver's side and got in, hoping that that would be the end of it. It wasn't. Noah got into the passenger side, looking like he wasn't about to leave.

"When will we talk about it, _huh_?"

"I don't know. _Later_. Now get out of my car and go home."

"No. You gave up the ability to make me go away easily when you let me kiss you. So, what is it? Did I go too fast? Am I not allowed to kiss you until we go on a date? Because I am fully capable of taking you out to dinner and a movie. Is it something else? Should I have not sung that song? Should I somehow train myself to be able to take my eyes off of you? The last one might be a bit difficult, but if you want, I'll try. I'll do anything you want me to." Both thumbs slid along the rim of the steering wheel.

"I just don't know what you want from me. That's all."

"Whatever you're willing to give."

Kurt snorted. "Could you be more vague? Tell me, Noah, tell me what you want. _What_? Sex? Someone to screw around with? Someone to change what people think of you? A little excitement? Someone to love you? Just tell me."

"I want _you_. How many times do I have to tell that I love you? You're such a prissy...Look, I want to be with you. All I've ever thought about for the past four years is just that. I never really thought it would even be possible until recently, so forgive me if I haven't figured out much more than that. I mean, yeah, I was thinking maybe you might be okay with being my boyfriend now, but, if I'm wrong, I'll take whatever you'll give me. Be it friendship, sex, whatever." He laughed bitterly. "I sound like such a pussy. Just pretend that was in some way as awesomely studly as I usually am."

"I think I would like that. The boyfriend thing, I mean. I just...Your relationship history leaves something to be desired."

"You don't think you can trust me," he said emptily. "None of that stuff - the Cheerios, the moms, accidental pregnancy - was because I actually wanted it. At first, I just wanted to prove to myself that I didn't need you or anything by sleeping with your opposite. And let me tell you, botoxed, starting-to-sag soccer moms aren't exactly fun to sleep with. When you get to that age, women just look a little _more_ nasty beneath their clothes. Well, and I sort of had to think of you the whole time to actually keep it up. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not going to sleep with anyone else or sext anyone else or kiss anyone else because that would be pretty fucking stupid. I mean, if I had you, why would I want to do any of that? And, yeah, thank you very much, I _am_ talking like a milkmaid. It's not completely my fault. But I make it badass, so whatever."

Kurt stared out the windshield, his mind moving too fast to form words for a long time. "I will _try_. That's all I can give you right now. I'm not even entirely sure how long I've liked you for, so that's the best I can do."

"And you can't be persuaded otherwise?" Noah asked seriously, but the beginnings of a smirk were visible. There was mischief on his mind.

"Maybe. Depends."

"Well, I can be _very_ persuasive. If you want, I could show you sometime. I could show you now, even-"

"Or not. I have homework. I should get home."

"You don't want to come over for dinner? I've got to tell my mom tonight no matter what. I can't let her find out from someone else. She'd never forgive me." Kurt grimaced. He knew firsthand how hard it was. Telling his dad...probably the single most uncomfortable moment of his life. Not quite as bad as _preparing_ to tell him, but still awful. And Puck, considering his history of women and manliness was probably in a different, possibly even more uncomfortable situation.

"I'll be there."

"Awesome. You can do your homework at my house, if you want. That way you're already there and all that." Kurt nodded.

"I've got to get a textbook from my house, but I'll meet you there. Now get your cute butt out of my baby."

He received a grin as the mohawked boy opened the door. "I don't want you to have to replace the upholstery or anything because your car can't handle my burning sex appeal."

"Egotism doesn't become you," he called after him, enjoying the (probably on purpose) view of Noah's backside. Strangely, there was more than just his rather awesome butt when he was viewed from behind, like his _really nice_ shoulders.

"Yeah, well, sexiness does." Kurt rolled his eyes, smiling to himself. "I'm taking your stunning lack-of-comeback as an agreement. Because, really, who can deny it? I make Greek gods jealous."

Kurt shook his head, looking out his rearview mirror. "I love that boy." He smiled as he said it, glad that it came out the way he'd say the same thing about Mercedes or Quinn or, on a good day, Rachel, since he wasn't ready for anything deeper. But the past few hours settled on him like a heavy blanket of confusion. It was muscle memory that brought him home; his mind was everywhere but the road. There was a little buzzing between his ears as he tried to unlock his front door and failed (it was already unlocked). He was almost in a trance when he descended to his basement. He held onto the book like it was the tether holding him to the ground. When he reached the top of his stairs, his dad called him and he remembered that, _oh yeah_, someone was home.

"I'm going to Noah's, dad. I'll be home by nine, don't worry." It was startling how normal he sounded. Considering that the stresses of the day had begun falling on him the minute he got out of the school parking lot, it was a wonder he wasn't either sobbing or laughing in mindless glee.

"Oh _really..._? Actually, do I even _want_ to know?" His baseball-capped head came into Kurt's line of sight.

"In a nutshell: Noah has decided that he's gay, or, technically, has decided _to admit_ that he's gay and, well, he wants me to be there when he tells his mom. Because today, he sort of told the entire school. Like, the _entire_ school."

"And you're gonna be there as what? The supportive friend?"

"About that...he may have asked me to be his boyfriend _and_ he sang me a song in rehearsal today. So, well..."

"Yeah. I know. The idiot won't shut up about you when he helps me at the shop." Kurt choked on his shock.

"_What_ now? What's this about him talking about me?"

Burt sighed. "He swore me to secrecy, _technically_, but it really can't hurt now. Basically the kid's spent _every single moment_ he's worked for me asking about you, half the time backwards so he can pretend I don't notice what he's doing. I mean, yeah, you're my son, and I love you and all that, but there's only so much I can hear about how cute you are and how you'll never love him because you like some jerk off named Finn. That said, I don't know what you know about him, but from what I've seen, Puck's a little weepy girl in a grown-up man body. He should be on Oprah or that other sensitive talk show, the one with the old guy, the doctor. So be nice. You're my son and I love you anyways, but to be frank, you can be a little bit like that guy, the foreign guy on that singing show you like to make fun of, when you get defensive." Kurt flinched as if slapped.

"Tell me you _did not_ just compare me to Simon Cowell."

"Whatever his name is. But be nice. Be more like that woman, the older one with the plastic surgery and the drugs."

"Stop with the _Idol_. Paula Abdul's not even on the show anymore. If I'm like any of the judges, I would be Ellen. She has good taste and nice hair."  
His dad obviously had no idea who he was talking about.

"Right. Whatever. Go to your boyfriend's house. And if I find out that you've slept with him here, after killing you both and gouging my own eyes out, I will personally burn every piece of furniture in the house, then wash the walls and floors with bleach. So no sex. I don't want to hear about it. Ever. Do not ask me for condoms, or, god forbid, anything else. I'm not ready for that. I don't think I'll ever be."

Kurt sighed. "So I guess some handcuffs and a ball gag would be out of the question then?" Burt was not amused.

"Nope." He shook his head hard, as if both disagreeing and clearing his mind at the same time. "I can take that sort of thing from Puck, but not from you. Just leave me with a bottle of something with a high alcohol content so I can forget this conversation ever happened." Kurt grinned, letting some of his real happiness show.

"Love you too. See ya!" His dad made an unseen expression as Kurt whirled out the door. He _may_ have broken a few speed limits on the way to Noah's house, but whatever. Because Noah had told _his dad_ of his wonderful, beautiful love for him. And that made it real. With that in mind, it was not at all surprising that Noah answered the door faster than anyone he'd seen; he practically yanked Kurt inside.

"So, my sister's home," he whispered. "So we'll have to keep it pretty quiet. Let me introduce you to her though so she doesn't freak out." He was pulled up the stairs, but was in too good a mood to care that he was being manhandled and his clothes were probably being wrinkled. Noah knocked on a door with an angry sign, just down the hall from his own room.

"Come in!" yelled a girl's voice. Noah opened the door, tugging Kurt into the doorway.

"'Sup, Judesie. How's it going?"

"Good, freak. Wait, there's a person here. Is that your friend? Does that mean that you actually _have_ a friend?"

"Haha. Real funny. This is Kurt. He's cool. Be nice to him." Kurt tried very hard to look normal and above-it-all. The girl raised an eyebrow in a very Noah-esque fashion. She had his eyes.

"You're gay, aren't you?" she asked brusquely. Kurt glanced at her brother.

"Don't be a jerk," Noah said. "Just because he dresses well doesn't mean he's gay."

She rolled her eyes. "I know, dipshit. I just have awesome gaydar. How do you think I figured _you_ out?" Kurt's eyes widened.

"No, you figured _me_ out because you snooped in my room and found my journal. That's not gaydar, that's being nosy. There's a difference, Judith."

"Wait, you have a journal?" Kurt asked, amused.

"Yeah!" Judith answered. "Do you wanna see it? I mean, half of it made me gag, but the other half was great for blackmail. I made several copies, so let me know if you ever-" Noah yanked Kurt out of the room and shut the door abruptly.

"Yeah, so, let's go to my room..."

"_Now_ I'm interested. What's in this journal of yours that you don't want me to see?"

"Nothing you won't know eventually. It's just sort of an old journal, and it's kind of embarrassing. And flowery. And I sound like my sister."

"Aw, that sounds cute!" Noah gave him a withering look and gestured him into his room. Kurt dropped his books on the floor. "So, how long until your mom gets home," he asked, sitting on the bed coyly. The door was shut and the mohawked boy gave him a smirk.

"About an hour. But I think we can find a way or two to occupy our time."

"Well, I actually _do_ have homework, but only a little bit. Mostly just math."

"Oh. Well, I'll just sit here then. Maybe play some music or something."

"You don't have any homework?"

He shrugged. "Nah. I never do my homework. Not going to start now."

"Fine. Fail your classes. Just don't distract me." Noah nodded, grinning lecherously. He went to an iPod stereo and started playing some music, picking out chords on his guitar. Kurt worked on his math problems diligently, ignoring the looks Noah would give him. Occasionally, he would stare off into space, deep in thought, and the other boy would catch his eye and wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. These little efforts were distracting at best, tempting at worst. Noah was a true master of pouting; he made it an art form, which did nothing to help his concentration. When, at long last, Kurt managed to finish all of his problems, Noah practically jumped in anticipation. After turning up the volume on the stereo just a little bit, he slunk onto the bed, pushing Kurt's books off the comforter and onto the floor.

"See, that's why I never do homework. It took you _way_ too long to finish."

"I would have been done fifteen minutes ago if you hadn't been distracting me."

"Trust me, the distraction is over. Unless, for some reason, I have to distract you from the fact that I'm gonna take off your pants." Noah smirked and kissed him on the nose.

Kurt's eyes went wide. "Or _not_. Your sister's, like, right across the hall."

"Yeah. So? I have music playing and she probably does too. She'll never know." The guitar-callused fingers of his left hand began to slide beneath the smaller boy's shirt.

"_Your mom_ will if she walks in on us, smart one." His pale fingers closed around his wrist and pulled the hand away, against his better judgement. "I'm not going to run the risk of getting beat up by your mother. I figure it would be a pretty terrible first impression, to meet her when engaged in..._certain activities_." Noah, in a position between lying next to him and hovering above him, bit his lip and shrugged with his eyebrows.

"Point taken. And I probably wouldn't actually try anything with her here. But we can still make out though, right? Because otherwise you're going to have to duct tape me to a chair or something. I'm gonna tell you straight up that I may get handsy otherwise. But really, you can't blame me for that. You're too cute for your own good, Kurt Hummel." He pressed a kiss to the "too cute" boy's forehead. "It's your own fault." Kurt could do nothing to hide his blush. _No one_ ever talked to him like that. Well, no one but Noah, who chose that moment to kiss him on the mouth. Fingers rand through his hair mercilessly as the larger boy sucked on his lower lip, sending a flurry of sparks through each and every one of his nerve endings. Kurt made a little satisfied noise in the back of his throat, settling into the warm curve of the other boy's body. Just as Noah was about to slide his tongue into Kurt's mouth, the door opened.

"Oh, dear god! Brain bleach! _Now_!" screeched a high voice. Noah pushed himself off abruptly. Kurt was able to see Judith, her face contorted in a mixture of shock and disgust.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" Noah asked angrily. "What are you doing in here anyway?"

She blinked, as if trying to make the image before her eyes disappear. "I just needed to borrow a book from you for a project. But I'll come back later. After I've gouged out my eyes with a wooden spoon."

"No, go on," he said, waving a hand in the direction of his bookshelf. "Just don't come in here without knocking when Kurt's over."

"Ugh. You wouldn't actually..._you know_...when I was here, would you?"

"Probably not."

"Thank you for that. Oh, and Mom called a little while ago. She said she'd be home by six to make dinner. She's gonna make burgers or something like that."

"Please tell me she's not going hardcore again."

"No. The Jew Bitch hasn't surfaced; she's not going to enforce anything, not this week, I don't think. Thank god. If I have to eat challah without butter one more time...Or know that I could be eating a cheeseburger..." Kurt looked between them like they were speaking Yiddish. He caught Noah's eye.

"My mom goes through phases," he explained. "Of religion. She'll be normal and chill one day, and the next, she's ranting about purity and our souls. Sometimes, she makes me wear a yarmulke and won't let me staple things or drive on Friday night or Saturday. When she gets crazy, we call her the Jew Bitch. And she gets _crazy_. After my dad left, she almost moved us to Israel. She thought that the reason bad things went down with him was because he was an American Jew, and too liberal, or something like that. Her dad and all of her grandparents were in the Holocaust. They were in Auschwitz. She's got family over in the Holy Land or something." He shook his head. "I don't know. She's a bit weird. Oh, and the butter thing was because it's not kosher to eat meat and dairy products at the same time."

"No cheeseburgers?" Kurt asked. Coming from a largely religion-less family, he felt a little uncomfortable when talking about a family that was the opposite.

"Nope. Well, not when she's in Bitch mode." Kurt made a noncommittal noise and looked down. Judith seemed to be very focused on choosing a book. When she found one, she left the room without saying a word. The door was closed loudly behind her.

Kurt stared after her and asked, "Is she okay?" Noah shrugged.

"Judi's turning thirteen in a few months. My mom's been sending her to our synagogue to prepare for her for her bat mitzvah. Technically, she could have done the whole thing a year ago, but my mom forgot because her mother died around then. So, now my sister's going to do it at thirteen, and sometimes when my mom gets drunk or especially crazy, she'll tell my sister she'd going to marry her off to some guy in Israel. According to some orthodox Jewish law, when she's had her bat mitzvah, she can do that. I mean, yeah, the idea's pretty ridiculous, but she's still pretty scary. So my sister's a little sensitive about everything."

"Oh," he said simply. There seemed to be a lot Kurt didn't know about Noah's life. Too much.

"Yeah. So, anyways...happy thoughts...wanna make out?" Kurt's eyes flitted to the clock.

"Your mom's going to be home pretty soon. I don't think that's such a good idea. I don't think we should take the chance of her catching us the way your sister did. Let's just play video games or something." Noah rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But sometime, we're going to have to go to your house so I can actually touch you. I hate this."

"Me too. But I know it's better to be safe than sorry." They sat against Noah's bed and turned on a video game. Their sides were pressed together and every now and then, one of them would reach out and touch the other, if only because they could. Kurt rubbed the tip of his nose against Noah's shoulder, breathing in his scent through the cotton of his t-shirt. Something, maybe it was his laundry detergent, smelled like vanilla and lavender and a sunny, breezy day. He was incredibly comforting in a way that shouldn't make any sense. But he was warm and beautiful, and even if it was only temporary, he was kind to him. Noah adored him. Sure, it was still incredibly strange, but he liked it. It was like the fashion line he was designing in his spare time (equestrian-chic, with some vintage influences); something that shouldn't work that did, and did so beautifully.

With music playing in the background and the noise from the game, it wasn't until Noah's bedroom door opened that they were alerted to the presence of his mother. Kurt thought she looked like a ragged, well-worn version of Judith, with darker brown eyes. She looked at them tiredly, like she'd been hauling rocks all day or something equally exhausting and laborious. She looked at him with surprise, but it was a lazy sort of surprise, like she really didn't care.

"I'm going to make dinner. Is your friend staying, Noah?" she asked, leaning against the door.

"Oh, yeah. This is Kurt." Kurt noticed that Noah didn't look up from the game, on purpose, and that his mother raised an eyebrow slightly at him.

"Hi, Mrs. Puckerman. It's very nice to meet you."

She smiled weakly. "It's nice to meet one of Noah's friends. Are you from school?"

"Yeah, Mom. He's on the football team with me. And Glee Club." She nodded.

"Alright. Burgers will be ready in twenty minutes. Kurt, would you like cheese on your burger?" He felt Noah relax beside him.

"That would be good. Just some cheddar, if you have it."

"We do." She looked at Noah again. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Kurt." She gave a little smile and left, closing the door behind her.

"She doesn't seem so bad," he said, leaning his cheek against the larger boy's shoulder. "Kind of nice, actually."

"I think she's been drinking. Or maybe she's just in one of her 'calm' moods. I can't tell sometimes." Kurt pressed a kiss to Noah's cheek. "Sometimes, I think you're too nice to me. I mean, considering all I've done to you. I _am_ sorry about everything, by the way."

"Maybe I've mostly forgiven you too quickly, but I haven't actually wanted to give you a slushie facial in a long time. Sometimes, and I don't even think you notice it always, you tell the truth about things most people would lie about. I don't know...I think you're just more candid than other people. I like that, I guess. Sure, things with you are different than they were with Finn, but for some weird reason, I feel comfortable around you and never did with him. I just have this feeling like maybe, just maybe, I could actually love you in time."

"I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

"You should."

* * *

Dinner was uncomfortable, as could be anticipated. Kurt made sure to eat his (admittedly delicious) burger very slowly, so that he didn't need to speak. Noah chewed quickly, nervously. The sounds of his anxiety permeated the heavy air. Judith seemed like she wanted to run up to her room, like she knew that it was just the calm before the storm, and she needed out because it wasn't about to blow over quickly. Then there was Noah's mom, eating as if nothing was unusual. Perhaps that was because she didn't notice. There was a box of red wine on the table even though she was the only one drinking. Her glass was refilled at least three times throughout the course of the meal.

As soon as everyone finished, Judith darted upstairs, muttering something about school work while Noah took the plunge. "Mom. There's something I wanted to talk about."

She brushed her hair behind her ear. "Yes, Noah?" Her voice was light and airy. The wine had brought a slight flush to her cheeks.

"So, I was wondering what your reaction would be if, theoretically, I was, _in theory_, gay. And Kurt was my boyfriend. Just as a purely speculative, hypothetical question." She made no movement but to finish the last of her glass and refill it. She swirled the liquid around, then drank it slowly.

"Have you had sex with this _boy_?" she asked, her eyes never leaving her glass. Kurt was reminded of one of his dad's favorite shows on animal planet, about predators of the animal kingdom. There was an episode where a panther stalked a baby monkey, eventually climbing a tree to get it. The animal had same deliberate, dangerous air as the woman across from him.

"No, Mother."

"You will not, then. You may _love_ him, you may _touch_ him, but you may not sleep with him. Is that in any way unclear? If I learn that you have done something indecent with him..." She left the threat hanging, still focused on the glass. "It's for your own good, Noah."

"Is it _really_? Or is it for _your_ good, mother? You just don't want your synagogue friends to know that your son's a faggot! What I do with him has nothing to do with you. You can't control me like that!" Kurt put a calming hand on Noah's elbow. A pair of frighteningly intense eyes met his, daring Kurt to stop him. But then, Kurt was always the daring type.

"Be grateful," he hissed. "You still have a roof over your head. Don't pick a fight over something little like this." Noah stood.

"Whatever," he muttered, thundering off to his room. Kurt got up a second later, afraid of being alone with Mrs. Puckerman for even a second. He found Noah sitting with his back against his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, and his face buried in his arms. Something inside the younger boy, something cracked and forgotten, churned and ground against itself deep in his chest. It _hurt_ to see him like that. Sitting down beside him, he did his best to project feelings of comfort. It was all he really knew how to do.

"Are you alright?" Kurt asked, a hand settled on Noah's bicep, his thumb gently rubbing the fabric of his t-shirt.

"No. Yeah. I don't know. I feel sort of _invaded_. Like, I thought she'd either be totally against it or totally cool with it. I didn't think she'd say...what she said. I mean, no sex? Really? I've slept with so many girls, and it's not like she doesn't know. She knows about the pool business, even, how I got all those extra tips. It just pisses me off that the one time she actually does care is the first time _I_ care. It makes no sense. Like she doesn't want me to be happy or something."

"Parents rarely make sense. Besides, look on the bright side: not only did she allow you to be gay in her house, but it's not like she'll ever know what we get up to. If we got up to something." Noah picked his head up and looked him dead in the eyes.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Well, I'm not saying we should get naked right now and do _whatever_, but in the future, I would be open to the idea. Let's face it - you're hot. And I'm sixteen. It's not like I'm against the thought of us _doing something_." Noah shook his head.

"Nope. I never thought I'd say this, but when it comes down to it, I'm not going to sleep with you. Not for a while. It just wouldn't be right. I've slept with too many people to count, and not a single one of them loved me. It was cheap and meaningless. I'm not going to do what I did with all of them, I'm not going to just _sleep with_ you. I want to _make love_. And you have to love me before that'll happen. And, maybe I care a little bit about what my mom said, but still. Yeah, my masculinity is taking a hit and I'll probably regret this in about a week, but whatever. I want it to be _different_ with you. Because _you're_ different. In a good way." Kurt smiled a little, but he almost felt like he was slapped. _In a good way_. If that was possible.

"I suppose if I told you I loved you now, you wouldn't believe me." Noah gave him a smile with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't think so. I guess the question is, how will I know?"

"You'll know. I promise." Kurt frowned and leaned against his shoulder, hoping he could melt into him. Maybe then he'd feel it. And not just for the sex, either, but he legitimately wanted to love him. Because here he was, with a boy who was being good to him, strangely enough, and he wanted to love him for it. So why didn't he?

* * *

It was nearly eleven that night when Kurt sat on his own bed and texted Mercedes. His beauty sleep could go fuck itself. _What do I do? How can I keep him safe now? _He read back over the text once he sent it and realized it was pretty vague, but he didn't feel like sending another to clarify. And Quinn was asleep only a few feet away, so he didn't want to text too much or too loudly. However, a minute or so later he got the response, _I'll take care of everything. Just go to sleep. If you don't, you'll be even paler and the dark circles under your eyes will be harder to cover up. 3 _Kurt grinned. Mercedes was obviously a good friend. She had his better interests in mind.

* * *

The next morning, he met Noah by his car before school. The football player bravely put an arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the forehead. There was a gnawing in his gut as they walked through the parking lot to the school. Kurt tried to steer them around the school and away from the dumpsters, but Noah would not be led away. Kurt could feel liquid fear circulating through his veins, propelled by his rapidly beating heart, but with his..._boyfriend_'s arm locked around his shoulders, there was no escape. He could see the group of five lurking around his dumpster, their bloodlust evident even from the reasonable distance.

And then suddenly, they weren't quite so visible. Because the _entire _Glee Club (minus the two of them, of course) was crowded around the group of jocks. As they neared, he could hear Mercedes saying, "...and if I even seeyou _look_ at them for two long, not only will Mr. Schu and Principal Figgins find out, but you'll all find yourselves in those dumpsters. And you won't be getting out anytime soon. Is that in any way unclear? No one messes with the Glee Club and gets away with it." This was punctuated with _ten_ grape slushies. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mr. Schu getting out of his car and smiling at the sight of the five football players covered in grape-flavored, high fructose corn syrup-laden ice. Noah took out his phone and snapped a picture of them.

"I think I'll treasure this forever," he announced. The rest of the Glee Club looked at him and grinned. Rachel looked a little obnoxious as usual, but she was tolerable at that moment, since she seemed to be on their side.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say that we're all incredibly supportive of you two. I know we should have done this earlier, but we're all really happy that you've stopped trying to maim each other," she said. "And, I would like to ask if I can be your fag hag."

Kurt looked around. "Sorry, Mercedes is my official fag hag. And I don't think Noah is up to the task of training a hag just yet." She looked down, a little sad. "I guess I could still share my incredible talent for style and impeccable taste with you. _If_ you allow me to give you a full makeover."

She gave him a wary eye. "Not like last time, though." He smiled to himself, fondly recalling when he turned her into a skank.

"No. I'll try not to make you look like a desperate prostitute this time." She beamed, and Mercedes came up behind him, threading her arm through the crook of his elbow. "By the way, I hadn't thought you'd come up with something this big," he said to her.

"All I had to do was tell Rachel. She has a thing for team-bonding and all that. It's not like we all weren't willing to help." Kurt noticed that Noah pulled away from him and went over to Finn, who was trying to hide behind everyone, which failed, considering that he was a foot taller than everyone.

"Thanks." The diva rolled her eyes.

"You better be serious about this boy. I could still beat him up, if you want."

"No, I'd prefer it if you didn't try to injure my boyfriend." He shook his head. "It feels weird to call him that."

"Imagine what it's like to see you together. _That's_ weird. I keep expecting him to give you a wedgie or a slushie facial." Kurt looked over to the boy in question, who seemed to be having an awkward but necessary conversation with Finn.

"He won't. I trust him. He won't hurt me, not on purpose."

"Whatever you say..." She gave him a smile. "I've got to go to class. I have a test I have to study for. I'll see you later." They air kissed, and Kurt noticed that everyone else had dispersed to their classes besides Noah and Finn. He stared fondly at the purple puddle on the pavement before edging over to them. Finn glanced at him.

"Hey, Kurt. I'm glad the whole gay thing is working well for you," he said awkwardly. "And Puck, I'll talk to you later." There was a tense moment in which they almost shared a hug or a fist bump or a friendly pat on the arm, but the moment passed and Finn walked away. Noah ruffled Kurt's hair.

"Are things alright with you and him?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. He'll forgive me in a while. I think now he's a little confused that I knocked up his girlfriend when I knew I was gay, but whatever. Maybe he'll figure it out, maybe he won't. But he's not really mad at me anymore. I think he's sort of cooled off." He shrugged it off. "Come on. Let's go to class."

* * *

**Okay, two brief things: 1) there _is _going to be a short chapter/epilogue/whatever after this. 2) I deeply apologize if I messed something up as far as Judaism is concerned. I thought my research was pretty thorough, but if I messed something up, let me know and I'll fix it.**


	8. Chapter 8: Saved

_"I'd like to pause this for a moment_  
_And I don't think that you'd oppose_  
_And I wish I could freeze time and space_  
_Like Hiro from Heroes _

_'Cause I wanna be able to _  
_Teleport back to this spot_  
_Whenever I want you"_

"Saved" by All Caps

* * *

A little over a week and a half later, Kurt was camped out on his couch with Noah and his dad. They were all watching some movie on tv, something sci fi and, remarkably, uncheesy, but Kurt wasn't paying any attention to the screen. He was more focused on the feeling he had at that precise moment and the idea of whether or not he'd be able to freeze it to live in forever. He was curled up against the warm, almost-familiar body of the illustrious Noah (which was fantastic) and his dad seemed okay with everything. Sure, he'd taken a little time to adjust to seeing them actually like each other. But he seemed alright with them together, thought they had yet to kiss in his presence (something Kurt wasn't comfortable with _ever_ doing unless it was, say, at their wedding), but it was going well. It helped that Noah and his dad had things in common and that they knew each other before any sort of relationship had happened.

It seemed to Kurt that his dad genuinely liked Noah, and that was the important thing. He would actually let him sleep over, though the permission was given with a warning that he might enter Kurt's room at any time, _so they better not be up to something_. He actually _did_ a couple times the first time Noah slept over, but they were playing cards the first time and watching a movie on Kurt's laptop the second time, and both times he did so with his hands over his eyes, _just in case_. But there were no more intrusions after that. Instead, the three of them would make breakfast together, or Kurt would stop by the shop after school on one of the days when Noah was working. His dad said that Kurt needed to stop coming around on those days because Noah was next to useless, but he could tell that his father was just trying to be grumpy and was actually fine with it.

* * *

Six weeks after they'd first started seeing each other, Kurt was happy. He'd had his doubts about whether or not he'd actually be able to sustain a relationship with some as predictably unpredictable as Noah, but it was actually much easier than he'd thought. In that time, Kurt had not once told him that he loved him, though he thought he might. It wasn't until regionals that he _knew_.

The competition was almost a hundred miles away and spanned two days, so it was decided that they'd all spend the night at a hotel nearby. Sue Sylvester had, in an effort to disqualify them, told them the wrong week. Mr. Schu had found out the actual date of the competition the day of, so everyone was crammed onto the handicap bus as fast as possible with their uniforms. For most of the boys, it was no big deal that they hadn't gotten to pack, but for Kurt, it was like blowing the high f _on accident_ at a solo performance of "Defying Gravity" in front of thousands of people while standing next to both Kristin Chenoweth _and_ Idina Menzel. Without his usual arsenal of hair and skin products, he felt naked and depressed.

Since they were expected to perform on the first day, it was kind of a big deal. It would have been much worse if Noah hadn't hijacked the bus with a full list of everything Kurt needed and gone to four different stores to bring back _every single item _on his list. The second the three plastic bags of product made it into his arms, Kurt dropped everything. He was sobbing.

"Wait, did I get the wrong bottle of something? I'll go back-" Noah was saying, but Kurt just shook his head and wrapped his arms around the frantic boy's waist.

"I totally and completely love you," he whispered, his face buried in Noah's white performance shirt, leaving wet spots. "You are an _incredible_ person."

As Noah tossed the keys to Mr. Schu (who was a bit pissed off about the whole thing), he said simply, "I believe you," and held him closer.

Looking back on the moment, Kurt was a little embarrassed that it took a store's worth of expensive beauty products to make him say it. After all, he'd felt it all along, but a small part of him had refused to let him admit it until Noah had really shown that _he_ loved him. And that was what happened. Kurt knew that the boy could care less about the products, in fact, he was fond of telling Kurt that he should get rid of all of them because he was "perfect without them" (which had to be a joke, of course). He didn't believe _that_, not for a second, but Noah had gotten them all anyway because he saw that they mattered to him. And that was enough. He didn't even mind that the glass bottle of european moisturizer that cost more than the rest of the products combined (well worth the price for its amazing moisturizing super powers) had broken when he dropped the bags.

Quite frankly, Noah Puckerman was more important.

* * *

**If it is of any interest to anyone, I am planning on writing one (and only one) more Glee fic. It's in the works right now. Basically, it's _full_ of angst and more of a long one-shot than anything else. The pairing will be Rachel/Puck/Kurt and it will take place roughly sixteen years in the Gleeverse's future. Can be read as an extension of this story, but intended as a standalone. **


End file.
